


Guerillas

by Helen (popslash_archivist)



Category: Popslash
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 00:29:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 33,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18354875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popslash_archivist/pseuds/Helen
Summary: dangerous mofos, hearts of gold





	1. help you out

Justin was waiting in his bed.

"What are you doing here," Joey said. Justin was wearing underwear and a thin undershirt, the same standard issue clothes they all wore, all of them gone slightly grey with washing. The undershirt was a little too large.

"Um," Justin said. "I thought." he looked at the floor and then back up at Joey, smiling warily, "I could help you out, and you could help me out, and everyone would be happy."

"A little too friendly in the barracks for you," Joey said quietly.

Justin nodded. Joey sighed. "You done this before?"

"yeah," Justin said.

"uh-huh." He leaned over and ran a finger over Justin's collarbone, right where his undershirt left it bare, and Justin flinched back away from him minutely before stilling himself, closing his eyes, tipping his head back. Joey laughed gruffly and stepped back, pulling his shirt over his head and putting it on the chair next to the bed where Justin's pants and shirt were already folded. He could feel Justin's eyes on him as he untied the laces of his boots and took them off, unbuckled his belt, slid his pants off, hung them over the chair. He walked over to the doorway and flicked off the light.

"Move over," he said, climbing into bed and Justin slid sideways with alacrity. He closed his eyes. He could hear Justin's breath coming quickly in the dark. "Don't you want to--" he began hesitantly.

"Go to sleep, kid," Joey said.


	2. ten minutes

They'd met at a party. sort of. JC had been escaping from it, a little dizzy from the amount he'd had to drink, making his excuses to one debutante or another, slipping up the stairs and along a dark hallway, finally finding a study that seemed to be empty. He stepped inside and when he flipped on the lights, saw a broken window, and the man rifling though the desk snapped his head up, looking at him sharply, and said

"Fuck--" and the next thing he knew JC was pinned back against the wall, knife at his throat. "Who the fuck are you?" he snarled, yanking JC's hair back, knicking him slightly with the knife.

"Nobody--I'm not--."

The man spoke into his headset. "Joe, we gotta problem, here." He turned back to JC. "Anyone meeting you here?"

"No."

"If I let you sit down, are you gonna make any noise?"

"No."

"'cause if you make noise, I'm gonna kill you, okay?"

"Okay," he whispered.

"You know I'll do it, right?"

Later, he would remember being terrified, remember how hard his heart was beating, but at the time, he could only feel the man's hand clutching his arm, could only nod in agreement.

"yeah."

The man sighed. "Siddown," he said, gesturing to a chair. "What's your name?"

"Josh Chasez."

"Josh Chasez," the man repeated into his headset. "What are you doing here?"

"There's a party--I was just. trying to get away."

The man listened intently to his headset for a minute before saying: "You're Colonel Chasez' kid?"

"yeah."

"Fuck," the man said again. "You in the army?"

"No. I'm. I'm at the university. I study, um. I'm in electrical engineering."

"mm," the man said. "okay."

"What are you--"

"Here's what's gonna happen," the man said, dark eyes fixed on his. "I'm gonna leave through that window. and you're gonna sit here for ten, fifteen minutes, and then you're going to go back to the party, and then you're going to go back to your books and forget you ever saw me. how's that?"

"I. okay."

"You're gonna get blood on your shirt," the man said, fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressing it against JC's neck.

"thanks," he mumbled.

"Not much of a party is it, then," the man said, idly. He was listening to his headset, waiting for something.

"Not much," JC said.

"mm. No pretty girls?"

"I--" JC said, but the man was moving, rising quickly to his feet and sticking his knife in a holster on his belt, muttering something quickly into his headset. He turned quickly back to JC, and was still for a moment before leaning down, hands on the armrests on either side of JC. He smiled, fleetingly, and it was a kind smile.

"Like that, is it?" he said, and then his lips were on JC's, quick and soft, tongue licking the corner of JC's mouth. "Ten minutes," he whispered, and was across the room and out the window before JC could open his mouth to say anything.

He sat there for twenty minutes. He spent the next three days in the archive at the university, hunched in front of a microfiche machine, the glare making his head ache. On the afternoon of the fourth day, he found it: a bad picture, smudged and dark, but still unmistakeably the man he'd seen. A revolutionary, a criminal, an enemy of the state, a known killer. JC read the articles numbly, and asked for a photocopy of the picture. A paper, he said. He was doing a paper for his political science class.

In a month, he'd stolen his father's security access codes. In two months he probably knew more about The Project than anyone in the country. In three months, he was sitting on a desk in another study, waiting. In his backpack were six pairs of underwear, a sweater, a pair of pants, two shirts, a toothbrush, a bar of chocolate, and seven high density disks, all of them full.


	3. something warm

The kid was warm, Joey knew that. And he had oddly adult hands, chapped knuckles, nimble fingers. He was taller than he looked, because he tended to hunch his shoulders, probably a habit from hunching over the computer console. He knew shit about electronics that even JC didn't know, and could fuck up the safeguards on a facility better than anyone they'd ever had before, and Joey got used to his voice in his ear, through his headset, muttering "Hold on, I almost got it," and reading him security codes, got used to his warm body against his at night. He only ever relaxed in sleep, burrowing into Joey's side, sighing contentedly when Joey hitched him up against his chest, and it had seemed like a pain at first, because Justin was a lot bigger than he looked, and he took up a fair amount of room, tangled his bony legs in Joey's, elbowed him when he had nightmares, but soon enough Joey liked it, liked having something warm in his bed, liked how Justin looked at him when he walked into the canteen, and he didn't fool himself that it was anything but Justin being grateful, maybe a little hero worship, but it was good enough. The next time they trashed a security outpost, he found himself picking up several slim interesting looking pieces of electronics and sliding them into his bag.

"Those for the kid," Chris said.

"yeah."

"He's that good, huh?"

"As good as Josh, maybe," Joey said, and watched the grin drop off Chris' face.

"Don't--"

"Then shut the fuck up," Joey said.


	4. a little payback

Chris touched JC all the time, but no one seemed to notice except him. Because he was new, Justin thought, it was only because he was new that he noticed Chris' hand on JC's thigh, stroking a little, when they were sitting on the worn out couches in a common area, watching a boxing match on a staticky black and white television, or Chris' hand on the back of JC's neck when they were all leaning over maps of the western quadrant, Lance and Joey arguing snappishly about security measures.

All of them being Lance and Joey, Chris and JC, and himself. He wasn't sure exactly why he was included, because The Project didn't exactly seem like the type of organization where, JC and Chris to the contrary, if you were sleeping with someone, you were automatically included in executive meetings. Or not sleeping with someone, he thought, watching Joey slam his hand down on the map and shake his head angrily. His primary function at these meetings seemed to be for Lance to grill him for ten minutes about whether he was capable of hacking into some database or another, and how long it might take, and whether he could do it without being detected, and whether he was lying about that or not, and after that, Lance would glare at him for a minute, and then nod and ignore him for the rest of the meeting.

He'd only been there a month, and he still didn't have boots, because they didn't have any his size, so he was still wearing worn sneakers, and occasionally getting lost, because all the hallways looked the same, and he hadn't really made any friends, and he couldn't remember a time when he hadn't wished that Joey would show up to see him, the way Chris did one day, in the long low room where most of the computers were, where he and JC spent most of their time. JC's head twitched a little before Justin noticed anything, and then he saw Chris, soaking wet, eyes wild, in the doorway.

"I gotta go," JC murmured, already on his feet, handing the bomb model they'd been working on to Justin. They were kissing before the door closed, Chris' hands in JC's hair. Once when he was lost, he'd seen them making out in a hallway, Chris holding JC tightly against the wall, JC's arms around his neck, Chris' hand in JC's pants.

Joey never touched him like that. Joey didn't touch him much at all, except at night, because the bed was small, and during the day a little, and once, early on, the first week, at breakfast, when some guy had given him an ugly grin and said

"hey, sugar--"

Joey was behind him so fast he almost stumbled at the hand lightly on his hip, Joey saying

"morning," very mildly, right above Justin's ear, almost as if the words were meant for him. When he looked again, the guy was gone, fading away into the line at the counter. Joey lifted the hand from his hip, and jerked his chin in the direction of a table, where Chris was stealing food from JC's plate, and Lance was reading a thick stack of papers in a folder, occasionally handing one across to JC.

"This is Justin," Joey said, when Justin set his tray tentatively down. Lance nodded at him, and Chris' eyes skated briefly across him before he raised his eyebrows at Joey.

"We've met," JC said, smiling at him. JC had been the one who'd said

"You know something about computers, you said?" sitting him down in front of the console.

Tonight, he thought that meant, the soft hand on his hip, the seat at the table. More things he would have to pay for one way or another, and he tried not to tense up when Joey yanked his shirt over his head at night, because that wasn't fair, that wasn't holding up his end of the bargain. When he got in later than Joey, he'd undress quickly, feeling exposed in the thin moonlight that filtered in through the blinds, wondering if Joey were watching him. After the late night chill of the corridor, the bed was amazingly warm, and at first, he'd lie awake, waiting for Joey to reach for him, peel down his underwear, roll him over on his back, demand a little payback, and as the weeks went by and nothing happened, the quiver in his stomach at Joey's hand on his side resolved from nervousness into anticipation. Imagining Joey's fingers tracing his stomach, Joey saying "I think this has gone on long enough," in his ear, made him want it fiercely, but Joey never said anything of the kind. He let Justin touch him during the day, but he rarely touched him back.

One afternoon, high winds and heavy rains flooded the lower halls of the compound, and threatened the buildings above ground, and they all ended up waiting it out in a watertight bunker. Chris was sitting against the wall when he got there, JC lolling sleepily between his legs, head on his shoulder. Joey was standing near the wall, arms crossed, and Justin slipped in behind him, putting one hand over his shoulder. Joey let him, didn't move away when Justin pressed in close to him, putting his chin on Joey's shoulder.

He liked JC, who was always nice to him, if occasionally a little distant, who never got annoyed with him when he leaned over his shoulder and pointed out the coding mistake he was making.

Chris made him kind of nervous, though.

Joey laughed when he said that.

"Chris makes everyone nervous," he said.


	5. too late

***********


	6. all kinds of romantic crap

"Fucking hell, Chris," Lance said, leaning back against the table in the small room they used for meetings. "And what were you thinking, Joey, letting him?"

"I didn't let him do anything. He just did it."

"The stuff he brought--that any good?" Chris said.

"It's good," Lance acknowledged, "but it doesn't change the fact that he's--not. not one of us."

"Joey's not one of us."

"Joey knows one end of a gun from the other. What does this kid know, except that he's hot for you?"

"He said he could build a bomb--I think he's studying that stuff."

"So now we got a Colonel's kid who can blow us all up," Lance said. "You know what? He's your problem--see if you can find some way for him to make himself useful, and at least teach him how to fire a gun."

"But--"

"Clean up your own fucking messes, Kirkpatrick."

So he did: took Josh down and introduced him to Bug and Cleo, who cleared a space for him on a long low desk and gave him the incident reports from the last year. In the afternoons, he took Josh out to the firing range and taught him how to shoot, took him out in the jungle to show him enough tracking that he would be able to keep himself from getting lost, and it was kind of nice. Josh learned fast, and didn't ask too many stupid questions, and Cleo whacked him on the back on night at dinner and said

"Kirkpatrick, that boyfriend of yours is a godsend."

"He can fix anything," Bug added through a mouthful of rice.

"He's not my boyfriend," Chris said.

"He wants to be," Bug said, which was true, of course, Chris knew it was true, too, he had just been ignoring it, ignoring the way that Josh stood a little too close to him, and tensed slightly when Chris reached around him to correct his hold on the gun. Chris wondered if he held it wrong on purpose sometimes. The truth was, he'd been sort of enjoying it; it had been a while since anyone looked at him that way. Still, it wasn't fair, because he had no intention of doing anything about it. He knew he should probably put a stop to it.

He didn't.

And one evening, after it had gotten too dark to be able to use the firing range, they were walking in and Josh had stopped at the hallway that branched off toward the work room, and put two careful fingers on his shoulder, moving them gently down his arm.

"No," Chris said.

"Okay," Josh said, but he didn't take his hand away.

"Josh--" Chris said, and wondered if he was going to have to hit him, hoping he could come up with something that would make Josh hate him enough without that.

"it's just. that first night--" Josh said.

"I kissed you," Chris cut him off.

Josh nodded, and met his eyes.

"mm."

"And I don't see why you would--"

"Because you were looking at me like I was the answer to all your sweet little virgin wet dreams and I knew it would make you keep your mouth shut long enough for us to get out of there," Chris said sharply, and Josh jerked his hand away, giving Chris a single startled look before turning down the hallway, and walking away. After he turned the corner, Chris heard him start running.

 

* * *

"Look--" he said. Josh was facing away from him, tinkering with a pair of broken infrared goggles he'd promised Chris he could fix.

"Look," Chris said. Josh bent his head, the clean line of his neck illuminated by the single overhead bulb. "It's not the greatest idea to get too attached to people here," Chris said.

"I know."

"And you're lonely--"

"I was lonely before--"

"So you joined a fucking resistance--"

"That wasn't why."

"I think it was," Chris said.

"Okay," Josh said. He removed a small screw from the goggles and put it carefully in a small jar.

"Josh."

"It's fine." He took out two more screws.

"We had lost someone on the way in," Chris said finally, "I didn't really find what we were looking for, and then Joey's yelling at me to kill you and get the hell out and all I can think is I got a hard on for this pretty kid in a suit that cost enough to feed our outfit for a week."

"I'm not a virgin," JC mumbled.

"I know you're lonely here," Chris said again, "but you can't--"

"Why not?" Josh said, turning around to face him.

"because."

"Oh."

"Okay?"

Josh nodded, but before Chris could turn to leave, he caught his wrist, a surprisingly strong grip, fingers tight.

"Maybe, um. I could. We could have sex."

"Josh--"

"Look, I wouldn't--. I wouldn't even stay after, or anything. I. just sex."

What a big fat fucking mistake that would be, Chris thought. He still thought it was a mistake, even when he was sitting in Cleo's old sprung easy chair, holding JC's hips, kissing his neck a little, letting him set the pace.

Afterwards, Josh said he had promised to go by the kitchen and see if he could figure out what was wrong with the toaster. Chris put his clothes back on and left.

Things changed, but only a little, and even though Chris knew it was a bad idea every time he saw JC holding his tray, scanning the tables for him at mealtimes, this was outweighed by the fact that he could go and find Josh anytime he wanted, in the work room, in the small bedroom he shared with six other people, and Josh would follow him to his room and they'd fuck, hard, or slow, or however he wanted it, JC running his hands greedily across his shoulders and ass, rolling him over and licking at the back of his neck, hot clever tongue sliding down his spine and tracing the coiled dragon tattoo at the small of his back and from the beginning, even, Chris liked kissing him, pressing him down against the bed, playing with his mouth, until JC was making frantic little sounds in the back of his throat, clutching at his back. It didn't take much to make him beg. He had expected JC to have some sort of meltdown in the first three days, where he'd ask Chris how he felt about him, and want all kinds of romantic crap, but he never said anything, never complained, never tried to stay, rolling out of the bed the minute Chris started to stir from his post-orgasm haze, pulling on his clothes, smiling tightly at Chris and running his hands through his hair before leaving, and Chris would have thought that it was just sex to him, that he was just a horny kid, but then there was the way JC looked at him, which was hard to miss. No one did.

He was smart as hell, too, because it was in the first week that Chris had run into him talking to Lance in the kitchen, holding a stack of dirty print-outs.

"You gotta leak," he was saying.

"I'd think--" Lance said, and it must have only been the first week, because everyone learned not to interrupt Lance in less time than that, but JC only raised his voice and slammed the top piece of paper down on the kitchen table.

"Look here," he said. "Someone knew about this. and this one, here--there was no way there should have been this many men on duty here, and--"

"You've been here a week," Lance said softly.

"And you're consistently going into facilities that are manned by twice the personnel than they are normally," JC said. He put the rest of the sheets carefully on the table and left the kitchen.

"Do me a favor," Lance said, when he was gone, "and try not to pick up any more mouthy little strays."

"He right?" Chris said, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Yup," Lance said tiredly.

 

* * *

JC built him a bomb. It was small, and he built it in Chris' room, because he needed space to spread out.

"I wouldn't ask," he said, "but. I can do it when you're not there."

"Fine," Chris said, and JC set up carefully, in the corner of the room, wires, and computer chips and wax and plastique and string and a small kitchen timer and screws and pliers, and Chris would come to his room and find JC hunched over this crap, twisting wires carefully together, squinting, and almost ended up taking him to bed, because he liked the way JC's hands moved, taking him to bed and letting him finish later.

 

* * *

"Stay," he said, one night.

"I--"

"Later," Chris said.

"Wh--"

"I want to do it again, later. Stay."

As if to make up for it, just to dispel any  _ideas_  JC might get, Chris was kind of rough with him the next morning. Shoved him onto his stomach, pulled his hair a bit. JC didn't seem to mind.


	7. Private

It was Justin's job to go get Chris and JC whenever there was a situation. It was usually fine; they would both be awake, moving busily around yanking on their clothes in the half light, mouths tight with exhaustion, and Chris would nod, and say,

"We got it, kid, go get Bug and Sela and Korsakoff, okay?" and he'd set off down towards the dorms where everyone slept dressed, anyway. One night, though, later than usual, he got to Chris and JC's room, breathless from the run downstairs.

"hurry--" Joey had said, tossing him his shirt, his face controlled in a way that meant it was big. He yanked open the door and was confronted with Chris rolling out of bed, competely naked, gun in one hand, face shuttered and dangerous.

Justin fell back a step. "Joey sent me, there's--"

"Right," Chris said, putting the gun down and yanking on a pair of pants. He leaned down over JC, touching his hair, and then his arm a little. He bent closer and said something in his ear. Justin thought there might have been a 'honey' in there, and JC rolled over and smiled sleepily at Chris, and Justin bit his lip and stared at the floor, and told himself it was private.

Joey didn't sleep naked. Justin wondered what would happen if he did, just climbed into bed naked and rolled up against Joey as though it were an accident, but in the end he was too much of a wimp to do that, because Joey might laugh, or, worse, he might ask him to put his underwear back on, and he might stop touching Justin even the little he did.

Once he burst in on JC and Chris, and instead of the usual pale moonlight, there was candlelight, one fat emergency candle on the bedside table, JC straddling Chris, whose wrists were tied to the headboard with heavy black laces. They were kissing, JC's hands cradling Chris' face, one of Chris' knees bent, JC undulating slowly on him.

"Sorry, sorry--" Justin gasped, and fell back out the door, but he'd already seen, in the pool of warm light from the candle, the tight muscles of JC's thigh, the arch of Chris' back, the way their mouths meshed.

He saw Joey naked, but it was only in the showers, or briefly, in the morning, when they were getting dressed, and it wasn't like he got to touch him, or anything, or like Joey ever touched him or looked at him the way Chris did with JC. Joey had a tattoo low on his hip, curving across his hipbone, red and orange. He hadn't been able to get close enough to really see it, except for the sparse flashes when Joey changed his underwear. Joey tended to be good-humoured about explaining where he'd gotten the few angry scars on his back, the one low on his belly, the patch of shiny pink crinkled skin on his calf, but when Justin had asked about the tattoo, he'd shaken his head dismissively and changed the subject.

"So. like. um. it's none of my business," he said painfully to JC several days later. He had to ask.

JC grinned kindly. "It's okay," he said. "It's--" he shrugged. "It's fun. It's a game."

"But. he lets you tie him up?"

"It's not like he would need to tie me," JC shrugged. "It's only sometimes."

"Oh."

"Is stuff okay with you and Joey?" JC asked.

"Fine," he said, forcing the word out.


	8. someone to take care of

Joey had always needed someone to take care of, Lance thought, watching Joey show Justin how to clean and reassemble a gun. Justin was picking it up quickly enough. Lance noticed that his fingers lingered a bit on Joey's when he took the oiled pieces of the gun from him. Lance wondered if he was slouching in the sofa so he was just a little shorter than Joey on purpose, tipping his head back like that, with that smile.

Uncharitable, he thought. There was no reason not to like the kid, who kept his mouth shut, who mostly came through for them, who owned up to it when he didn't. He'd been a little surprised when JC brought him to that first meeting, the apprehensive expression on Justin's face lightening just a little when he saw Joey waiting on the couch. If JC thought he was worth bringing, though, Lance didn't question it. JC was more efficient these days, his reports more comprehensive, and he'd finally fixed their primary water heater.

"I've just had time to get to it," he said. "Justin's lightened the load quite a bit, and he's a hell of a lot faster than I am at finding security loopholes."

So there was really no reason not to like him, because he was a good kid, and a hard worker, and it didn't much matter that he came out of Joey's bedroom in the morning stretching, flushed with sleep, hair tousled messily.

Lance had known Joey the longest of any of them, met him the first day at the Academy, where Joey had already seemed to know everyone, and have at least ten close friends. He was fourth generation military. He could probably already do ten thousand push-ups, Lance thought that first day, sitting on his bunk in the six man room watching Joey. Lance could do twenty. He'd gotten in on the strength of test scores, a charity case from the ground up. Before he'd come he wondered how bad it could possibly be, but after the first few weeks he didn't have much confidence that he would make it much longer. The classes were very difficult, and that wouldn't have been so bad except he didn't have any time to do the homework, because he was so exhausted from the push- ups and and the running in the morning and the shooting and hand- to-hand and obstacle course and further push-ups in the afternoon, and the constant shouting, and it occurred to him that relief about fitting in when the first person called him "fuck-hole," was perhaps indicative of a situation that was rapidly growing intolerable.

Of course, it wasn't the classes or the training or the god-fucking-damnit push-ups, it was that he'd been there a month and he hated nearly everyone. Not mild dislike, not indifference, not being unacquainted, he hated them, the sense of entitlement with which they roamed the halls, the massive amounts of food they ate utterly carelessly, as if they didn't know how lucky they were. He wondered what his da would say, seeing him turning into one of these men, his da who had been so proud when he'd passed the entrance exam.

And then one day, waiting for his turn to scale the wall, which he'd never once managed without several humiliating moments of hanging there motionless, struggling not to fall off. Sometimes he did fall off, although that was happening less.

"It's easier," Joey said beside him, "if you start on the left, 'cause there's a little foothold gouged there."

Before Lance could say anything, Joey shook his dark hair off his forehead and ran for the wall.

"So," Joey said, sitting on his bunk a week later, as though he did it every night "did you write the paper for Military History?"

"I'm not writing yours," Lance said shortly, looking up briefly from the book he was reading. At least, he thought, Joey didn't seem like the type to punch him for refusing to do it. He'd been beat up twice already, guys whose names he barely knew showing up when he was alone in the locker room, genial at first, then annoyed. He'd found that if you lay there for a few minutes, you were barely even dizzy when you stood back up.

"slipped in the shower," he would have said, if anyone asked, but they didn't, and after the second time, they must have decided he was a waste of effort, because they stopped bothering him.

"I was just wondering," Joey said, "because you had some books out from the library that I wanted to use."

"Oh," he said.

"So, if you were done, then I could borrow them."

"Sure," he said, finding the books Joey wanted on the shelf over his desk. "This one's. uh. not so useful," he said, feeling as though he should say something, "this one's good, though."

"Thanks," Joey said.

Then, like that, he'd been Joey's friend. Joey sat at his table at meals, and taught him how to shoot a crossbow, and an AK-47, a handgun, and a rifle, how to dislocate someone's elbow, shoulder and knee, and four ways to start a fire in the wild and was his partner on the three week survival drill they had to do towards the end of the year, and didn't get angry at him even when he screwed up the rabbit trap and they ended up eating bugs for three days. Lance taught him calculus. And how to spell and smile at a girl you liked, how to throw a knife more or less accurately, and how to get drunk. They roomed together the following year, and for the next three years after that.

They had the same tattoo, low on their hips, a secret, since they weren't allowed to have tattoos, a coiling spiraling flame, "'cause y'know. 'cause. I'd go through fire for you," Joey had said when he picked it out, one broad finger on the design, not looking at Lance. "that sounded really lame," he said, "but."

"no," Lance said. "I mean. I want that, too."

He'd thought, when he got it, that maybe he would be able to feel the tattoo, under his clothes, but it wasn't like that. It was more that he knew it was there, even when he couldn't see it.

 

* * *

Spring came early their last year. The rains let up in February, and left everything green, hills bursting into flowers, wildflowers on the firing ranges, and he and Joey snuck out of the dormitory: out their window, across the roof, down the drainpipe, and went down to the village, where they drank and played darts and danced with the local girls, who laughed and smacked them on the shoulders and kissed them, and sometimes did more, in the long shadows behind the bar.

Four days before April break, coming back, they were caught in a sudden rainstorm, hard fat raindrops pelting them, and they were soaked by the time they climbed into their window, Lance laughing at the way the rain plastered Joey's hair to his head. Joey grinned at him, and then leaned over and kissed him, gently. Lance jerked away from him, shocked, but the night after that they kissed again, tentatively, Lance nervously clutching the edge of the sink in the bathroom, Joey's arm pressed lightly around his waist. They didn't speak of it during the day, but Lance carried it around inside him, a warm feeling in his stomach that seemed to swallow him up at night, when he clutched at Joey's shirt and opened his mouth with his tongue. He had never been happier. The last night before they left for the break, he crawled into Joey's bed wearing only his underwear, and they kissed until they fell asleep. In the morning, he left Joey sleeping. Time enough when he got back, he thought. Plenty of time.

They contacted him two days after he got home, two quiet grim men who sat in the kitchen and drank tea and asked if he would come into the jungle to meet someone. He thought of the boys he had hated those first few months, whom he had grown to ignore, thought of the squalor of the villages his bus had rumbled by on the way home, and said yes. He stayed for three weeks. He listened, and then he talked himself hoarse, but at the end, he said only "I will come."

When he returned to school, he told Joey, the first night, that he was tired, and the next night, he turned his face away in the bathroom, one hand pushing Joey's shoulder back, Joey's mouth glancing off cheekbone. The bewildered look on Joey's face made his stomach hurt.

"Lance," Joey whispered, the third night, standing behind his desk chair.

"Not now," he said, and Joey never brought it up again. He left a month later, slipping out of their window one Wednesday night. By that time, it was almost a relief. Joey was beginning to act normally around him again, smiling at him, asking him if he wanted to go out to a bar on the nights when they were allowed off-campus. They didn't sneak out anymore. Joey never touched him.

For two years, he worked, and fought and planned and forgot, did his best to forget, and if he had not succeeded by the time their compound was found, he did afterwards, the deaths of more than half their number, caught in gunfire, trapped in the burning main building, captured and executed, pushed the memories far enough down inside him that he could pretend they no longer existed. They set up, deeper still in the jungle, and their scattered company trickled back, and now they had to work harder, because people were frightened, people who had listened to the executions on the radio, watched the bodies crumple to the ground on the television. He didn't get very much sleep, and he could feel the few friendships he had made changing, twisting away from him while he tried to figure out their next course of action, to make sure everyone had enough to eat, to figure out what the sanest thing to do was. When he ate, the only person who sat at his table was Chris, who was more animal than anything, those days. His child dead in the fire, his wife executed. He didn't talk about anything but killing.

Eight months later, he came back from a routine border check to see Joey, sitting on the bench outside the canteen, smoking a cigarette.

"You're not an easy man to find, Bass," he said, standing and throwing down the cigarette, grinding it out with the heel of his boot.

"This was why, right?" Joey had asked him, three weeks later. "This was the reason."

"Yes," he'd said, slowly. Joey had fallen in with them almost seemlessly, finally giving Kirkpatrick a decent hand-to-hand partner, improving their speed and efficiency almost overnight. Lance had forgotten that Joey was, perhaps more than anything, a teacher, which he and Chris were not, watched Joey passing through the ranks correcting a grip, or watching someone's posture before offering kind criticism. Joey looked at him, too, direct and promising glances, fingers brushing his when he had coffee in Lance's rooms at night, looking over the terrain maps and plans.

"So," Joey said that night, and slid between his knees and the coffee table, kneeling, catching his mouth in a kiss, and his mouth was soft under Lance's, one hand braced on his knee, dark lashes on his cheeks, and Lance kissed him back, helplessly, hands sliding over Joey's shoulders, the rough fabric of his jacket, finally finding bare skin at his throat, and Joey tilted his head back and made a soft sound into Lance's mouth, and Lance pulled back, swallowing convulsively.

"No," he said.

"What--" Joey was blinking at him, mouth still wet.

"God, Joey, I can't."

"I don't understand."

"I can't--" his voice was shaking, and he struggled to get it under control. "please understand that I can't."

"You won't," Joey said, his eyes dark with disappointment.

 

* * *

"I would understand," Lance said the next day, "if you felt. if you wanted to leave."

"Your ass ain't that sweet, Bass," Joey said, and they never mentioned it again.

 


	9. orange

There was nothing to do; their part was done, all that was left was to was wait for Lance and Joey to show up. JC sat down on the tarmac of the roof and leaned against a chimney, squinting in the noon sun and the haze. Chris dug two cigarettes out of his pocket, put them in his mouth and lit them, hands cupped against the wind on the roof. He handed one to JC, who took it gratefully.

From the roof they could see Evanston Hill, gracious mansions spilling down the hill, overlooking the town below. If he squinted, JC could see the high sloping roof of his old house, the attic where he had never been allowed to play. He took a drag off the cigarette and tilted his face into the sun, closing his eyes.

"you miss it," Chris said.

JC shrugged.

Chris sucked fiercely at the cigarette. "I don't--you just left. everything. your family," he said.

"It wasn't real," JC said.

They finished their cigarettes in silence, stubbing them out and tossing the butts away. Chris checked his watch.

"I miss oranges," JC said.

"Oranges," Chris said.

"We used to get these oranges from Spain," JC said. "Christmas. Birthdays. I used to trade candy with my sister for them. She--" JC said, and snapped his mouth shut, tight. Across the roof, a door opened. Lance, Joey. JC and Chris got up and grabbed their backpacks, crossing the roof to meet them.


	10. too goddamn much

He didn't notice at first because JC disappeared sometimes, for hours on end, working on one project or another, and Chris wouldn't be able to find him, although he wouldn't try very hard either, so he didn't think anything of it when JC wasn't there at lunch or, again at dinner.

"You seen JC," he finally asked Joey.

"Nope."

"He was fixing the drainage in Building B two days ago," Lance said.

"Yeah, I know," Chris said, because JC had gotten back to the room that night soaked through, and trembling with cold, and there hadn't been enough water for him to be able to take a long enough shower to warm up. He hadn't been able to stop shivering until Chris found him another blanket. He'd offered to go back to the dormitory, but Chris had said he wanted to fuck, and JC said

"okay," and put ice cold fingers on his cheek.

"Christ, warm up first," he'd said, and JC shrank back a little, muttered,

"sorry."

They fell asleep before they got around to doing anything, although JC had blown him the next morning, down underneath the covers, and then shook his head and said he was fine when Chris offered to reciprocate.

The work in Building B was done, and Cleo said JC hadn't been around downstairs, and he wasn't back in the room, and his bed in the dormitory was neatly made, woolen blanket pulled up tautly and tucked in. When JC didn't show up for dinner, he went back down, and found Bug, alone, grimy with machine oil.

"Did you check that little storage room where he holes up?" she asked.

It was down a labyrinthian hallway and another set of stairs, next to the boiler room, but when he yanked open the door, swollen and tight in the doorframe, JC was there, hunched over a table, working meticulously at a small piece of machinery.

There was a half eaten sandwich on a plate next to him, picked apart, the lettuce wilted.

"Is there--do you need something?" JC said, barely looking up from what he was doing.

"What are you doing?" Chris asked. The room was hot and dry, and JC was flushed, a hectic color in his cheeks.

"I'm--Lance asked me to finish--"

"Where were you last night?"

"I had some stuff to get done."

"Did you sleep?"

JC flicked his eyes up, then, forehead creasing in annoyance. "yes."

"Where?"

"In the chair in the computer room."

"That's--"

"Look,  _sorry_ ," JC snapped, "I'll come by later and suck your cock, okay?"

"Don't bother," Chris started to say, but then JC started to cough, a harsh dry hacking. He held his hand against his mouth and his shoulders shook with the force of the coughs. Chris pushed himself off the doorframe and came across the room, starting to pat JC between his shoulder blades. His skin was hot, the shirt damp and clinging to the skin, and up close, Chris could see that the collar was dark with sweat. JC stopped coughing, breathing weakly. "Shit," Chris said. "How long have you been like this?"

"I'm fine," JC muttered.

"Bullshit, you're fine," Chris said, "c'mon." He pulled back the chair, and hauled JC to his feet.

"I have to get this done," JC protested.

"Leave it," Chris said.

"But--" JC said, still resisting.

" _Leave_  it," Chris said.

 

* * *

By the time they got back to Chris' room, JC had stopped protesting. He sat obediently on the bed while Chris undressed him, lifting up his arms for Chris to pull a clean undershirt over his head. Chris made him drink a glass of water, and flipped the blinds closed against the setting sun, so the whole room was faint and dusky, dust motes floating golden in the air.

"Lie down," Chris said, and pulled the sheet and blanket up over JC. "You cold?"

"No," JC said, but then he began coughing again, and this time he couldn't stop, hauling himself up into a sitting position and leaning over his knees, body shaking and twisting, muttering "sorry," once when Chris swore under his breath. Finally, he sighed, and stopped, taking the glass of water Chris had gotten for him and leaning gingerly back against the headboard. "shouldn't lie down, I guess," he said. He didn't look very comfortable, braced against the one thin pillow on Chris' bed.

"Fuck." Chris said, and yanked his shirt off over his head.

"What are you--" JC said when Chris threw his pants across the locker at the foot of his bed.

"Move over," Chris said, and slid in behind him, pushing JC a little so he slid down, head against Chris' shoulder. JC sighed, and shifted against him. "Comfortable?" Chris said roughly, voice soft against JC's ear.

"yeah," JC admitted.

"Okay," Chris said. "Get some rest, then."

"I don't know why you're doing this," JC mumbled, shifting restlessly against him. "You don't even like me."

Chris reached an arm around him, anchoring him closer.

"I like you too goddamn much." He bent his head and kissed the side of JC's neck, smoothed his hair off his forehead. "Go to sleep."


	11. how you like it

The first day that JC was sick, Chris went down to the dormitory and cleaned JC's clothes and shaving kit out of the sparse locker and brought them back. He put the clothes in an empty dresser drawer, not looking at JC, and then took the shaving kit into the bathroom. From the bed, JC could hear muffled clicks and clatters as Chris cleaned off a shelf in the medicine cabinet for him. JC heard the cabinet door close, and then Chris was leaning in the bathroom doorway, looking at him. He coughed, and swiped at his nose with his handkerchief.

"You warm enough?" Chris said.

"Yes," JC said. Chris nodded.

"I told Lance to reassign your bed," he said.

"okay," JC said.

JC started to feel better the next day, and on the morning of the third day, Bug showed up with a cardboard box full of broken equipment and grinned hopefully at Chris. On the afternoon of the fourth day, when Chris leaned in the door, papers were spread out across the bed, and JC had the pieces of a flashlight between his knees and was twisting some battery wires together with a pair of pliers.

"Hey," Chris said.

"Hey," JC said, and smiled. "You gonna let me get up?"

"Maybe," Chris said, coming into the room, and shutting the door behind him. He pushed some papers out of the way and sat down on the bed next to JC. He was holding one hand behind his back.

"What?" JC said, warily, and Chris brought his hand around, dropping a large round orange into JC's hands. JC blinked in surprise, and then he gave Chris a quick cautious smile, eyes crinkling up. Chris grinned back before gathering the pieces of the flashlight and sticking them on the bedside table, crawling up closer to JC and gently straddling his thighs, the papers on the bed crackling under his knees.

JC leaned back on the pile of pillows that Chris had found him and Chris plucked the orange out of his hand and deftly flicked a divot out of the top of the peel with his knife before sinking his thumbs in under the peel. The pieces of rind fell on the bedspread as Chris dropped them carelessly and papers fluttered and drifted to the floor. He split the orange into two pieces and put one on the bedside table, and separated the first section, finally flicking his gaze to JC, who was watching him raptly, one hand on Chris' thigh, stroking slowly with his thumb.

When JC reached for the section, Chris shook his head minutely and pushed his hand down, holding JC's wrist gently against the pillow.

"What--oh," JC said, and opened his mouth for the first slice.

His teeth pierced the skin and the juice was tart and cool on his lips and Chris' fingers, and JC's eyeslids slid down under Chris' intent gaze. On the third slice, he made a small sound against Chris' fingers, and on the fourth, he sucked on them, tilting his chin up to catch the index and ring fingers, sliding his tongue between them, all the way up, past the second knuckle, sweet and sticky over the faint persistant gun-oil taste of Chris' skin. Chris fed him another slice, and then another, the juice trickling down the edge of his palm and his wrist, and then the corner of JC's mouth and down to his chin. Chris licked his wrist before feeding him the next piece, his fingers lingering over JC's lips now, sliding along them, dipping inside. JC closed his eyes again, and squirmed down lower on the pillows, moving his hand higher up on Chris' thigh. Another piece, eaten slowly, and another, and then Chris leaned down and licked carefully at the corner of his mouth, traced his tongue along JC's top lip, and swiped his tongue over the stickiness on JC's chin before pulling back slightly and sticking his own fingers in his mouth.

"oh," JC said faintly, and reached for him, and they kissed for a long time, Chris' tongue in JC's open mouth, Chris stroking JC's cheek, and when he pulled back, JC was already fumbling with the waistband of Chris' pants.

"no, no," Chris said, pushing his hands back.

"but--"

"you're still sick," Chris said, and picked up the other half of the orange.

"I'm not that sick," JC said, pushing himself up on his elbows, arching his back a little.

"You want this or not," Chris said, separating the first slice. JC sighed and flopped back against the pillows, opening his mouth.

"not fair," he said, swallowing the second slice, and Chris bent down over him suddenly and kissed him fiercely, pressed his body back against the pillows, then pulled back and cupped his cheek, running his thumb over JC's lower lip.

"when you're better," he said, "We'll do it just how you like it."


	12. you know why

There were a lot of things; first, because he didn't have to do all the things the new recruits usually had to do: dig latrines, or clean or do kitchen duty, starting at five a.m., and that was because he had to spend twelve, thirteen, fourteen hour days with JC saying "It's there, you'll find it, look again--" after he'd said there wasn't a security breach, and he'd already checked four times, and it just wasn't  _there_.

JC was nearly always right.

They didn't have to spend terrible hours hunched in the corner with JC, the rest of the room silent around them, listening to Joey somewhere out there, giving him directions, looking at the tense quiet look on JC's face when Chris was saying loudly enough that he could hear it blare out of JC's headset "Gimme the fucking code, we don't have any time," knowing he could fuck up, or send Joey down a wrong hallway, or not be able to crack the security, and kill them. But the others didn't see that, only saw him eating breakfast at ten a.m. with JC, both of them still yawning, JC shoveling eggs into his mouth while marking field reports with a pencil and handing them to him, saw him come into the canteen at dinner time clean, not still smelling faintly of shit, with a thin overlay of the harsh disinfectant they used.

And finally, Joey: him coming out of Joey's room in the mornings, Joey's hand on the back of his neck, once or twice, walking down the hallway, Joey tickling him one night in the common room while he twisted and shrieked, Joey tossing him a box of chocolates when he came back from routine reconnaissance and saying, small smile, "gotcha something, kid." He shared the chocolates, but that almost made it worse.

 

* * *

They waited until Joey was off someplace else before cornering him in a hallway.

"You must really think you're something special," they said, and told him he was a cocksucking little bitch, before hitting him. Again and again, pain splintering through his head when it hit the wall, breath knocked out of him. They laughed when he started to cry.

"your boyfriend won't think you're so pretty now," the last one said, leaning down and spitting in his face.

The floor was cool and dry, and he lay on his side, staring at the dust speckling the baseboards, until his stomach stopped hurting, until his hitching breaths slowed and evened out, before rolling carefully to his knees and standing up. He leaned against the wall for a moment and touched the back of his head tentatively, but there was no blood on his fingers. When he wiped his face with the hem of his shirt, though, it came away with blood mixed with mucus, mostly his own. Not enough to get really worried about. They hadn't hit him as hard as they could have; he'd had worse. His hands were fine, at least; he hadn't bothered to try to hit them in return. His lip felt raw and salty, but he thought it might not be that bad; just nicked on his teeth.

 

* * *

Joey came back to the room while he was trying to clean up. There was antiseptic in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, but it stung, and he was just wincing at himself in the mirror when Joey appeared behind him, startling him, face shadowed in his reflection.

"Hi," Justin said, because he didn't know what else to say. He should have changed his shirt, because there was the blood on the hem and several small bright spots below the collar, from his nose, and that made things look worse than they really were. He tried a small smile at Joey, but it made the new scab on his lip crack open. Joey stepped into the narrow bathroom, boot clicking loudly on the tile, and Justin took an involuntary step back, his hip bumping into the sink.

Joey's mouth tightened, and he plucked the antiseptic out of Justin's hand and guided him in to sit on the bed, flicking on the lamp on the bedside table and tilting back Justin's face in his hand to look at his lip, the puffy swelling beneath his eye. There was a long skidding scrape across Justin's elbow, and another on his cheek. Joey nodded, and started dabbing gently at Justin's cheek.

"So what happened?" he asked, when he finished with the cheek, and started on Justin's elbow.

"Nothing," Justin said. He was holding Justin's arm loosely, Justin's wrist small and pale in the palm of his hand. Joey's head was bent over Justin's arm, so Justin could see only his forehead, creased in concentration, and dark eyelashes on his cheeks. It was the closest he'd been to Joey for some time when they were both awake. The eyelashes reminded him of Joey asleep, reminded him of the nights that he and JC and Bug worked late, because it was the safest time to take the comm equipment down for repair. He'd get in past midnight, waving a tired goodbye to JC in the hallway. Those were the only nights he dared to slide up behind Joey, press his cheek against Joey's back, put a cautious hand over his hip. In sleep, Joey was monumental, unguarded. warm. Once, Joey had woken up as Justin's hand slid over his waist, and Justin had had to say that he was just cold.

In the mornings, after Joey left, Justin would roll sideways into the warm dent Joey left, rub his face against Joey's pillow, sometimes slide his hand down his stomach, beneath the waistband of his underwear.

"Who," Joey demanded, tilting his head back to look at Justin.

"No one," Justin said. Joey shook his head and deftly taped a large strip of gauze over the raw patch on Justin's arm before tucking his sleeve down over it, standing up, staring down at Justin for a long moment, eyes dark and hard.

"Why won't you tell me?"

"You know why," Justin said.


	13. self-preservation

Justin was the worst fighter he'd ever seen. He didn't move too badly, and could duck out of the way of fists easily enough, slithering sideways, quick on his feet, but he didn't seem to want to hit anything, or have any real sense of self-preservation. This made things difficult. Most of the people Joey taught to fight had some sort of bone to pick, were vicious, and tended to be dangerously bad fighters because they got angry so easily, and forgot everything he'd taught them. Justin listened to everything he said dutifully, and hit the punching bag willingly enough, but never seemed to think of it as an applicable skill, even when his lip was still split and swollen.

They spent nights after dinner in the empty gym, circling each other on the mats. Sometimes JC and Chris were there, scuffling against each other in the opposite corner. JC fought with sharp economical movements and when Chris had him on his back, he struggled fiercely, pulling his lips back from his teeth in a feral grin.

"C'mon," Joey tried once, trying to make Justin angry, and slapped him hard across the face. "What are you, a wimp?"

Justin pressed his lips together and forgot to feint out of the way for a moment before recovering, jerking his body away from Joey's fists at the last moment. He hunched his shoulders inward, a little, and looked at Joey's hands, but not his face.

"I told you," Joey said, hitting him again, but lightly this time, almost reluctant, "you have to look at the eyes."

Justin raised his eyes unwillingly, eyes shadowed. The next time Joey hit him, he fell down, hard.

"sorry," he mumbled, getting to his feet.

"hey--" Joey said.

"yeah," Justin said, raising his hands again. "sorry."

Joey sighed, and stepped back. "I was just trying to make you mad."

"I knew that," Justin said, after a moment, but he gave Joey a small relieved smile.

"Sit down a minute," Joey said, and Justin followed him obediently to the bench against the wall. Joey rubbed his hands against his knees, and noticed that Justin's sneakers were ragged, and almost too small, a small tear on the toe of one of them.

"Do you want to learn how to do this?" he asked finally.

"yeah," Justin said.

"Maybe someone else," Joey said, squinting across the gym at Chris and JC.

"No--" Justin said hurriedly. "I'll try harder."

 

 

* * *

Once Joey misjudged a punch and hit Justin a lot harder than he meant to, fist slamming into Justin's ribcage. Justin barely flinched.

"a lover, not a fighter, huh," Joey said, later, scrubbing his fingers quickly through Justin's hair as they walked down the hallway. He laughed. Justin flinched.

 

* * *

The first time he'd seen Justin, he'd been blinking in the dim light of the small empty restaurant where they were supposed to meet up with some guy who'd been exchanging information with JC for months. Justin had been tall then, although he'd since grown taller, wearing a school uniform, dark blue wool trousers, creased, a pale blue shirt, striped school tie, blazer, a wool cap crumpled in his hand.

Joey had been standing lookout, leaning unobtrusively against the back passageway to the kitchen. JC and Lance exchanged uncertain glances while the kid slung his backpack off his shoulder and blinked again, before walking resolutely over and sitting down at JC and Lance's table.

The metal blades of the fan had moved lazily overhead while JC and the kid had talked, Lance leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. Joey hadn't been able to hear much, but he had been able to hear it when Lance shifted in his seat and growled

"you're bluffing,"

before the kid said, scornfully, voice a little high-pitched, a little petulant, "because you're so well hidden out there siphoning power off the grid in sector 53, where there's supposed to be nothing but jungle for miles. Anyone who knew what to look for--" but Lance lunged across the table and grabbed his lapels, picking him up and shoving him past Joey into the back passageway. JC raised his eyebrows at Joey and leaned across the table to grab the kid's backpack before they followed.

The back of the restaurant was a small grassy yard with a chicken coop and a dumpster, and Lance manhandled the kid out the back door, his arm twisted up behind his back. His shirt had come untucked, and Lance threw him up against the brick wall and swung his pistol up to the kid's forehead, nudging him back, and the kid's eyes went wide before he stumbled backwards against the wall, eyes shutting tightly.

"Lance," JC said.

"What?" Lance's mouth was tight with fury, and JC sighed.

"He's--"

"He's a dangerous little  _fuck_  and I don't want him anywhere near my operation."

"We need him." JC's voice was low and calm. Lance kept the gun at the kid's head for another long moment before shaking his head angrily and shoving the gun back into the holster at the small of his back. "You fuck up," he said, "I'll kill you myself."

The kid nodded. "Let's go, then." Lance said.

 

Lance set a brutal pace through the jungle, and even Joey was faintly relieved to stop for the night. He had just started to clear a small patch of ground for a cooking fire when Lance jerked his chin at Justin and walked out of the clearing. Justin followed him, and when they came back fifteen minutes later, Justin was red, mouth set, and his shirt was buttoned wrong.

"He's clean," Lance said to JC, and JC nodded. Justin opened his mouth and then closed it again. When Joey handed him his share of the potatoes they'd baked in the fire, he muttered "thank you," but didn't look at Joey. JC and Lance ate quickly before setting up to see if they could pull in a radio signal. Joey was almost done with his share before he realized Justin wasn't eating.

"It's a long day tomorrow," he said. "eat." Justin looked at him, quickly, face unreadable in the fading light and pressed his lips together, almost a smile. He started to eat.

 

Three weeks later, he was in Joey's bed.

 

* * *

"Try again," Joey said, standing.

"okay," Justin said, and this time actually popped Joey on a chest, a slow, graceless punch.

"great, again," Joey said, and Justin brought up his fist, weakly, too slow.

"Harder," Joey said, and shoved him, and Justin stumbled backwards and threw his fist up into Joey's eye.

"Ow--" Joey said. "fuck." He pressed a hand to his eye.

"I'm sorry," Justin said, "sorry."

Joey's eye started to tear, but he wiped them away with his finger and said "no, s'okay, you got me good."

When Justin smiled, there was a small dimple in his cheek, and it was so easy to grab his arm and tumble him backwards into the mat, dig his fingers into the sweet soft skin on Justin's belly while Justin shrieked in laughter and begged him to stop, his hands coming up and pushing ineffectually at Joey's, squirmed underneath him, then shoving his own fingers under Joey's shirt until Joey grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the mat. Justin's chest was heaving, still, and a few tears sparkled on his eyelashes. Justin sighed, and his forearms were long and pale against the black of the mat, the blue intersection of veins in his wrist underneath Joey's thumb.

"Joey--" Justin whispered, and there was still a small unhealed cut on the bottom of his lip from when he'd been beat up, and his eyes flickered slowly open. Joey lurched to his feet.

"You're too thin," he said.

"I'm--" Justin said, getting to his feet.

"You getting enough to eat?" Joey said.

"I. yeah." Justin said. Across the gym, JC wrapped his arm around Chris' waist and dragged him over on to his back for a few tense moments, scrambling over Chris' body, grabbing at his wrists, but then Chris flipped him back onto his stomach and crouched over him, breathing inaudible threats against the back of his neck. Justin looked down at the floor.

"That's enough for tonight, then," Joey said.

He was still too thin, though, Joey thought, too thin against him at night, ribs and knees and elbows, wrists that stuck out of the sleeves of the shirt from the school uniform that he was still wearing, the shirt untucked over the pants, which were starting to be too small, too short. He had computer strain around his eyes, and a half-gold tangle of hair, and a fucking sweet little face, Joey told himself, because Justin was just a kid, and there was the wool blazer with the crest that he never wore hanging in Joey's closet to prove it, so it didn't matter, the hot accidental slide of Justin's skin against his in his bed at night, the one time he'd forgotten his hat in the room and swung the silent door open to see Justin's head tossed back on the pillow, long throat exposed, mouth open, flushed, the blankets shoved down to his waist, one hand moving underneath, his other hand stroking up his chest, and Joey eased the door shut before he could see Justin slide his fingers into his mouth. Just a kid, a lonely sexy kid with long legs, and a careful husky laugh.

He thought Justin would get over it, make some friends, that he'd come back to his room one night and find that Justin had cleared out his things, and then the next time they saw each other Justin would smile awkwardly at him, and that would be it, but weeks went by, and he was still waking up with Justin sprawled across him, warm deep breath against his chest, sometimes a hand tucked around his waist. He didn't usually wake up when Joey eased out from underneath him, settling contentedly back into sleep, knees curled up towards his chest.

He split his time between thinking about rolling Justin onto his back and stroking a hand up the inside of his thigh, and wondering what kinds of noises he might be able coax from Justin, and thinking maybe Justin should be drinking milk or something, and knowing that he should be in school, reading poems or learning geography, and not getting in at three o'clock in the morning and climbing into bed and pressing his face into Joey's back when he thought Joey wasn't awake.

 

* * *

"He was at Our Lady of Mercy," JC said, sometime at the beginning, when Joey was still half trying to get rid of Justin. Joey shook his head without recognition and JC snorted and said "They're criminals there, man."

"What?"

"parents are rich enough to buy them out of trouble," JC said, prying the backplate off a small box and looking resignedly at the tangle of wires inside.

"What'd he do?" Joey asked.

"He doesn't talk about it," JC shrugged. "probably hacked something he shouldn't have."

 

* * *

"So, your school." Joey said later, when Justin was sitting on the edge of the bed, taking off his shoes.

"What about it?" Justin said, faintly sullen. Joey scratched his ear.

"Do you miss it? Your friends--" his voiced trailed off.

Justin squinted at him before saying, without conviction, "yeah."


	14. Overexposed

He never meant to pry. Personal space was at a premium in the compound, and boundaries were always respected. But they were having an unexpected cold snap, hard rain every afternoon and most of the night, overcast mornings, and Chris had said that he thought he had some heavier clothes someplace in the closet, so JC had spent part of the afternoon digging through the closet they both used for storage. It wasn't a large space, but JC had taken to storing boxes of salvaged parts there that he thought he might be able to use, and Chris, who had a touching and somewhat misplaced faith in his ability to fix anything, had stopped throwing weapons and equipment away, even when JC said that they were beyond repair. It was dusk before he found any clothing, and then most of it was summerweight, grey tank tops, thin pants. There were some stiff musty blankets that he pulled out and dropped on the floor, and, oddly a box of outdated telephones, and some pipe fittings he thought Bug might be able to use. The cardboard box they were in was heavy and faintly damp, mold crawling down its sides. It was nearly flush with the back wall of the closet, but when he dragged it out of the way something fell down behind it.

It was a small box, a cigar box, fastened together in front with a crumbling piece of cellophane tape. When he touched it, the tape rolled up and fell away in his hand. He flipped open the lid, and the box was nearly empty. A small bronze key, four tarnished buttons, a shaving brush with the handle broken off, some bullet casings, a handkerchief. He found the photograph when he pushed the handkerchief aside. It was an old snapshot, yellowed and creased, and a little overexposed, black and white gone sepia, but still clear enough. A young couple, the woman's arm slung around the man's shoulders as she smiled at the camera. The man was grinning as well, holding a young child in his arms. JC looked at the picture, at the unabashed happiness on the people's faces, the affectionate careful grasp the man had on the child. Then he put it back in the box, and put the box back in the closet, shoving the box of pipe fittings back into place.

The man in the photograph was Chris.


	15. nineteen

He was folding laundry when Bug stopped by. Justin usually threw his clean laundry into his drawer and wore it wrinkled, and they all had so few clothes that it wasn't necessary to fold it to save space, but Joey had found it hard to break the habit. He had small neat stacks of socks and underwear and shirts on the trunk at the end of the bed, and was just about to start putting the sheets on the bed when Bug knocked. It was easier to put sheets on with two people, but he didn't like to do it with Justin, because of the way Justin looked at him when they pulled the sheet taut between them, adoring, hopeful.

Bug was wearing a heavy sweater and raingear, and smiled at him before fishing a small brown paper sack out of her pocket.

"I gotta go out to the north border," she said. "something's short-circuiting out there."

"yeah?" Joey said.

"just, um--tell Justin I said happy birthday, okay?" she said, and handed the bag to Joey.

"What?"

"They're earrings," she said, as though she hadn't heard him. "Tell him I'll do the piercing tomorrow if he wants."

"oh," Joey said. "okay." She waved and set down off the hall, pulling the hood of the rainjacket over her head.

 

* * *

He put the bag on the bedside table on Justin's side of the bed, and then put the sheets on carefully. Justin got back as he was putting the pillowcases on the pillows.

"Bug dropped something off for you," Joey said. "Bedside table." Justin picked it up and sat down slowly on the bed to open it, pulling a small box out of the bag and staring at it. "It's a present," Joey said.

"I--oh," Justin said, when he opened it, and the earrings spilled into his hand.

"happy birthday," Joey said, and sat down next to him, the bed creaking and and sinking slightly beneath them. "can I see?" Justin held his palm flat, and Joey reached over and touched them, two small flat intricate spirals, in a tarnished grey metal, oddly cool against his fingers. "nice," Joey said, and the tips of his fingers brushed Justin's palm.

"You like them?" Justin said. His cheeks were a little pink, and Joey felt suddenly guilty.

"You should have said something," Joey said.

"About what?"

"About your birthday, kid," Joey said. "I would have gotten you a cake, or something."

"JC got a cake," Justin said, shrugging. He touched the earrings again, and then put them carefully back into the box.

"How old are you, then," Joey asked.

"Nineteen." Justin said, and smiled down at his knees.

"You're--oh." Joey said, pressing his lips tightly together. Justin turned his head, and the smile was still there, sideways, private, and then he saw Joey's face and blinked.

"What, how old did you think I was?" he said curiously.

Joey shook his head. "Didn't think about it, really." Justin nodded. "Oh, well. I'm gonna take a shower," he said. He stood and pulled his sweater and shirt off over his head in one motion before hanging them over the chair against the wall and going into the bathroom.

Joey heard the snap of the medicine cabinet door and then the heavy spill of water from the shower, the click and ping of the shower curtain rings scraping across the rod. He rubbed his palms against his knees.

"Nineteen," he said softly, to the empty room.


	16. luck

***********


	17. careless, careful

He couldn't stop thinking about it. The third time he pulled everything out of the closet to get the photograph, he kept it out, hiding it, first, in his bureau, and then the middle of a book about small engine repair, and then deep in the threadbare couch they had in their room, making a small slit in the material that covered the springs and slipping it beneath. No place was safe enough.

There was small spiky scrawl on the back of the photograph, blue ink: "Chris, me, and the widget, Summer, the bay," it said. The words were pale with age, and no matter how many times he looked at them, ran a thumb across them, they didn't say any more about who she was, or who the baby was, or how she had made Chris smile so carelessly like that, eyes unshadowed. How it was that she had made him happy.

He felt sick and scared every time he hid it again, as though a timer were slowly ticking down to the place where lies of omission became true lies. He thought about betrayal, and then found that there was an undetectable space behind the mirror on the medicine cabinet, and slid the photograph in there, which meant he could go into the bathroom when Chris was in the room and look at it. When it started to get wrinkled from the steam from the shower, he moved it back to the book.

Chris acted the same as he always had, but JC felt oddly disconnected, as though he were in a play where he pretended that he didn't know that once, Chris had been happier than he'd even seen him, in which he acted as if the photograph didn't exist, and it was same as before, when he'd known Chris was his, and felt foolishly superior to Justin, who was tentative and fumbling with Joey, and blushed a clear startled pink when Joey touched him in public.

Before, Chris would come back to the room at night and strip down, talking to him, take a shower and then come into the room naked, carelessly dried, beads of water across his shoulders, dripping from his hair. In the rainy season, he had a short threadbare robe he wore, but in the summer, when JC had usually stripped down to underwear and a tank top himself, Chris didn't bother. He'd read the paper, usually at least a week old, if they had one, leaning against the headboard, naked, and when JC finished his work, and sometimes when he hadn't, Chris would reach for him, pull him over, run a hand down his back, smile lazily at him, and they'd have sex, the weave of the coverlet against his back, and Chris on top of him, slow and slick and gentle because it was too hot for anything else.

Chris liked him to sleep on the side of the bed that was against the wall, even though JC almost always got up earlier, and had to climb over Chris to get out of bed. Chris liked to be spooned, JC's arm around his waist from behind, and Chris liked his legs, saying so more than once, sliding appreciative hands over his calves and thighs.

At first, he had been as careful as he knew how. He kept his clothes neatly folded in his drawer, and took hurried showers in case Chris needed to use the bathroom. When he had to work late he went down to the work room, even though Chris said the light didn't bother him. He pressed his lips carefully against the warm skin at the base of Chris' neck when Chris was asleep, afraid of waking him, wanting to touch him. Chris was a heavy sleeper, and JC got less careful about it, dragging his lips lower, sliding his tongue over the knobs at the top of Chris' spine, salt and soap, and one night Chris woke up, suddenly, snapped awake under JC's mouth. He rolled over and tilted his head back, but JC couldn't see his eyes in the darkness.

"You wanted something?"

"no," JC had whispered.

"I think, maybe, you wanted something," Chris said, and pulled JC's mouth down to his. Chris made a content noise when he opened his mouth and flipped the blankets down off them, covering JC's body with his own, slid his thumb into the sensitive hollow of JC's hip, laughing quietly against his throat when he moaned, muttering that he'd wake everyone up, but not telling him to be quiet.

After, he cupped a palm around JC's cheek, and said "wake me up," before settling back into sleep.

After that, he wasn't afraid to touch Chris at night, to slide a thigh between his legs and lick his shoulder until he woke up, to kiss him awake, to shake him awake, even, poking fingers into his ribs and asking if Chris was going to wake up and fuck him already, to once, leave him a dirty note in the light backpack he took if he were going to be gone a few days, slid down into the bottom where he wouldn't find it until he was at least a day's journey from the compound.

Now, he was afraid again.


	18. dress rehearsal

The counters in the department store were high and long, and hit Joey just below his ribcage. The store itself was old, granite and marble and flaking gold paint on grand clockfaces, panthers and owls and mostly naked frolicking mythical creatured etched into a frieze that ran around the entire long atrium of the store, far above them, grey with dust and age, very little to do with the scuffed, indented marble of the floor, and the long tired lines of people that traced, haphazardly, from the door to the counter, held in check with occasional frayed velvet cords, remnants of another era.

"What the fuck are you doing," Chris had said, when handed him his backpack, and pulled a large grey threadbare sweater over his head: camouflage. He'd let his beard grow for the week after he'd come up with the idea.

Chris was the one who did reckless things, and Joey was the one who shook his head resignedly and watched his back, and they understood each other in that, Chris disappearing silently into the underbrush and returning forty-five minutes later, shirt speckled delicately with red-brown flecks, as though he'd eaten a half-pound of cherries messily, greedily, spilling them down his front.

Chris looked at him as he smoothed the sweater down, and unbuckled his holster, sticking it and the gun into his pack, and then dropped his eyes and muttered "Fine. Half an hour, Fatone."

It took him nearly forty minutes to reach the head of the line, behind a gnarled farmer and his wife, in town for socks, and knitting wool, and a wide bolt of heavy fabric. When it was his turn, he fished a much folded piece of paper out of his pocket, and passed across nearly a quarter of the money he had left.

They didn't get paid. Any money that came in went for food and equipment and maintenance. Money was tight, usually, even with several generous anonymous donors. Most of their money came from theft, although JC managed to bring in some for them by selling information for which they had no use, genetic manipulation, vegetables and then goats, satellite patterns, World War II contacts, old news, no help to them now. The morning of the day he'd joined, Joey had withdrawn everything he'd had in his bank account, and he'd handed most of it to Lance, a dowry of sorts, keeping only a little, which had dwindled, slowly, until even a small purchase made a noticeable dent.

In bed, these days, Justin sighed and drew bold hands up his back, tilted his head back with hope in his eyes. Everything was a dress rehearsal. Joey pulled a finger across Justin's belly one night, low, right above the elastic of his underwear, and Justin shivered, pressing up against his hand, and then giggled, a little, low and happy. He liked the way his hand looked, splayed open, dark and tan on Justin's pale stomach.

They made good time on the way back, returning in early afternoon, enough time, Joey thought, to shower, and maybe find a bit of ribbon for the gift. He thought about leaving it on the bed for Justin to find, a surprise, but decided against it, unwilling to rob himself of the look on Justin's face when he saw it.

Lance was waiting for him outside his room, leaning against the wall outside the door. There was some trouble up north, he said. Nothing big, rumors blown out of proportion, probably. He wanted Joey to check it out, a four day trip at most. He needed to leave right away.

No shower, then. No wrapping paper, no ribbon, nothing, except for Joey to splash his face with water and find Justin in the workroom, below, ask to see him outside a moment. Justin nodded, and followed him into the hallway.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, leaning against the wall, mouth apprehensive.

"No," Joey said. "I gotta head out for a few days."

Justin nodded. Joey hesitated a moment, oddly nervous.

"I got--happy birthday," he said, and crouched down and took the boots out of his pack. They were black, and shiny, and the right size, as near as he could get from tracing the outline of Justin's torn and broken sneakers onto a piece of paper. Justin took them from him,

"You didn't have to," he said, but he was already clutching them tightly in his hands, proudly.

"I know," Joey said.

"Thanks," Justin said, "Thank you. I--"

"Four days." Joey zipped his backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

Justin bit his lip and made a restless movement. "Joey--" He reached for Joey, uncertainly, with the hand that wasn't holding the boots, and tilted his head back a bit, just in case, Joey thought, I might want to give a good-bye kiss, a promise-kiss.

"When I get back," he said, and reached out and touched the corner of Justin's mouth, his soft cheek.


	19. silent when he wanted to be

Chris caught him with the photograph the night he was supposed to be out doing a border check. It wasn't the first time Chris had traded off his shift and snuck back to surprise him. Chris could be silent when he wanted to be, and more than once had snuck up behind JC, and growled something obscene in his ear, trailed his mouth hotly down JC's neck. JC used to like it.

This time, Chris had JC's hips in his hands, mouth against the back of his neck and JC started, fumbling with the photograph and then dropping it.

"What's--" Chris said.

"Nothing--" JC said, grabbing it from the floor, but Chris was faster, and snatched it from his fingers, gone clumsy with guilt and inevitability.

"Where did you get this?" Chris said, after a moment. He squinted at the picture as though he had never seen it before.

"It was in the back of the closet," JC said.

"oh." Chris looked at the photograph, and then at JC, eyes blank. Then he turned, and left the room.

Chris didn't come back for hours, until it was long past dark, and JC had given up and taken off his clothes and gone to bed. Chris stripped, dropping his clothes on the floor by the bed, each article of clothing dropping to the floor, soft heavy thuds, made louder by the silent room. Chris got into bed, but didn't touch him. JC pretended to be asleep.

He let Justin off early the next day, because Joey was getting back that evening, and Justin was more or less useless, taking an hour to do a simple task that should have taken him twenty minutes. JC tried to tell himself it was because he was being kind, and because Justin needed more time off, but it was more because he couldn't stand to look at Justin's pretty, excited face anymore.

That morning, Chris had gotten dressed wordlessly, pulling on his clothes from the night before, sitting on the bed with his back to JC to put on his boots. He'd hesitated, a moment, by the bed, before leaving, and then pressed a kiss to JC's cheek. His lips had been cold. The door had closed behind him with a careful snap.


	20. twenty-one hours, now

Joey got home ahead of schedule, several hours before sundown. They had stopped serving dinner, so he grabbed a leftover sandwich in the kitchen, eating quickly on the way back to the room. The bed was made, the sheets and blanket drawn up tightly over the bed, and when he stepped closer, he saw that there was a small piece of candy on the pillow. It was the cheap waxy chocolate they made in the kitchens, wrapped in a bit of cellophane and tied with twine. Justin wasn't there.

Joey pulled off his gritty clothes and dropped them into the hamper, and then took a shower, scrubbing himself meticulously, brushing his teeth, shaving, shaping his goatee by feel. He half expected Justin to be there when he came out of the shower, waiting, sitting on the bed.

The sheets were clean, fresh from the laundry. Joey took the piece of candy and put it carefully in his bedside table before crawling into bed. He didn't bother to put on any underwear. He fell asleep quickly, thinking of Justin climbing into bed behind him, soft quick breath in the dark, hand on his hip.

Justin always woke him up.

 

* * *

He woke up when the sun was high, broad strips of sunlight across the floor. Justin's side of the bed was untouched, pillow still high and plump, sheets flat.

 

* * *

"Hey, Joe," JC said, giving him a faint tired smile.

"Is Justin here?" Joey asked, scanning the room. Half the people in the room were wearing wrinkled clothing and drinking coffee, had been there all night, probably, but none of them were Justin.

JC shrugged. "He hasn't checked in yet; probably still at breakfast."

"No," Joey said. He gone by the canteen on the way down.

"I haven't seen him since last night," JC said. "I let him off early."

"What?" Joey's mouth went slowly, terribly, dry.

"He wasn't-- " JC shook his head, mouth tightening in consternation. Joey wanted to grab him and shake him until his teeth rattled.

"When was the last time you saw him," Joey said tersely.

"Six thirty. last night." JC said, after a beat.

"That's--sixteen hours now." They looked at each other for a long sick moment before JC wheeled around and started giving quiet instructions.

 

* * *

For an hour, there was nothing. Justin had been to the laundry, at six-thirty, and gotten fresh sheets. Bug found someone who said he'd seen Justin going outside, at about seven.

"And what," Joey said to JC. "Then he just disappeared? Where the fuck is he?"

JC didn't say anything.

Two hours passed while they ran a series of patrols through the woods in ever widening circles around the compound. Nothing.

Another hour. Joey ate half a sandwich and vomited it up almost immediately in the bathroom outside the canteen.

When he got back to the workroom, JC was stripping the wiring from old telephone.

"What are you doing?" Joey said.

"I'm--" JC blinked at him. sighed. "Joey, everything's being done that--"

"You can't just--" Joey said, close to shouting. He shoved the heavy work table roughly, and it skidded a few inches along the concrete floor, the telephone falling to the floor, the plastic outer case cracking. JC stood up, slamming his palms flat against the table, his chair scraping loudly across the floor.

"I think you--" JC said, and then Bug came out of the comm room and said

"You better get in here."

 

* * *

There was an impromptu meeting in the comm room, all of them crowded around Bug, who replayed the stuttering staticky words over and over, " _suspected dissident picked up in the western quadrant of sector fifty-three--"_

"It's a request for further information," she said, the first time, when there was a crackling break in the words.  _"183 centimeters, blonde-blue, approximately 17 years, refuses to give any personal information, no ID"_  Lance hit the comm board after the third time they heard it, shutting off the tape. It was Justin.

"all right," Lance said, crossing his arms. "They've had him, what--"

"twenty-one hours, now," Joey said impatiently.

"They'll hold off on questioning him until they get him back to intel headquarters," Lance said. "Chris."

Chris nodded. "right."

"Lance," Joey said. His lungs felt as though they didn't have any air in them.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Lance said, turning to leave the room.

"I'm going," Joey said.


	21. distance inside him

"Twenty minutes," he said to Joey, who nodded, after a pause where he seemed to want to say it wasn't fast enough, and then he went back to his room to put together his kit: rations, extra shells, a compact first aid kit. He checked his pistol carefully, and was rummaging through the closet for his heavier thermals, because they'd probably be out without cover for at least one night, when JC came in.

"hey," he said, the door swinging closed behind him. He looked young, and tired, and Chris opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it.

"do you--" JC said, reaching for him, one hand, fingers loosely curled, and Chris pulled his backup knife off the peg in the closet and held it out, silently. It was heavy and dangerous, a thick sharp oily blade as long as his forearm. When JC took it, Chris turned around, and JC fastened the straps, deftly, efficiently, one around Chris' waist, and one over his shoulder, the knife hanging balanced, straight down his back.

They always did it that way.

JC had put the knife on for him maybe twenty or thirty times before it really became something they did, something necessary before Chris left. When Chris came back, sometimes JC would start kissing him before he could unbuckle the straps, tilting his face up and running his hands down Chris' arms, twining his fingers in Chris' and pulling him down on the bed, kissing his shoulder, and his chest, and then the strap across Chris' shoulder, salty from sweat, a sharp red welt underneath the strap.

He didn't mind, liked making love to JC with the heavy weight of the knife against his spine, JC's helpless sighs and mutters, his hands plucking restlessly at the strap around Chris' waist. "Chris. Chris," JC would say, or only "oh, you." sighed into his ear.

They never kissed before Chris went away. It felt like bad luck.

He wasn't certain when his peculiar helpless want for JC had turned into something else, when the clutch of JC's thighs and hands around him had started to be the thing he thought of on missions, when things were going suddenly sour. He didn't know how it could be that he had come to rely on JC for nothing but his continued presence. The silences between them lately had been heavy and uneven, and JC kept opening his mouth to say something and then shutting it, quickly. JC flinched when he touched him, once, coming up on him unexpectedly at dinner, but he didn't do it again, after that. Chris thought that maybe he'd trained himself not to.

JC didn't touch him at night.

It was training, Chris thought, an introduction to the way his life had always been, and he kept the silent distance inside him, relearned it, made himself begin to let JC settle slowly deeper within him, to deep quiet spaces, rarely thought of.

He'd thrown away the photograph. He wasn't sure why he'd ever kept it.

JC tested the tightness of the straps, made a minute adjustment to the way the knife hung, and then stepped back, one tap on his shoulder to know he was done. Chris nodded at him and pulled on his cap.

"Bring him back," JC said.

"I will," Chris said.


	22. wait until dark

Even in the jeep, it took them two hours, and it was pale grey dusk before they hid the jeep and crept over the top of the rise to see them setting up camp below

"I make it five," Chris said, moving the binoculars in a long horizontal sweep. Joey didn't say anything, and Chris handed him the binoculars.

Justin's hands were tied in front of him, and he was bound on a short lead to a jeep. Joey bit his lip and fixed the focus on the binoculars. Justin's face was bruised and there was a long wet-looking cut above his eyebrow. His clothes were dusty and the knees of his pants were ripped.

"okay," Joey said. "let's go, then."

"We'll wait until dark," Chris said, and collapsed the binoculars with several efficient snaps.

It seemed like longer than it was. The sun crept lower, and Joey checked his gun, again, dumped the shells out and put them back in, muffled clicks as they slid into the chamber. Chris pulled up his pant leg and tightened the straps on the knife strapped to his calf. Then he pulled the knife and cleaned his nails. The afternoon turned gold, and the sun flickered off Chris' eyelashes, and the sharp lines of his face, and then the sun slid behind the trees, and in a few minutes they were in sudden inky darkness, except for the light of the cooking fire in the clearing below. Chris stood up, and touched Joey's shoulder, and they slid quietly down the embankment, the dry grass crackling softly under their boots.

Things that should be hard often aren't. Chris slid up behind the first one, and cut his throat at the same time that Joey stepped out of the clearing and shot the next one point blank in the face before whirling around and shooting another. Chris shot another, who had dropped a ration bar and was reaching for his pistol, and then knifed the fifth man through the back, and then it was over, oddly quiet in the clearing. The whole thing had taken perhaps forty-five seconds. Joey shoved his gun into his belt and looked at Chris quickly before turning to Justin. Chris turned away and crouched down by the fire, cleaning his knife.

"hi," Joey said, touching Justin's cheek carefully.

"hi," Justin said softly, voice rusty, when Joey smiled at him and fished a knife out of his boot, cutting the rope that bound his hands. Chris muttered something about meeting them at the jeep and stood up, walking away.

"you all right?" Joey said, touching the abraided skin on Justin's wrists carefully, and then running the tips of his fingers down Justin's palm.

"Fine," Justin said.

 

* * *

They had only been driving for fifteen minutes when the radio popped and whined, JC's voice patchy as he said "lose the jeep, they're setting up road blocks." There was a crackle of static, and then JC again, "do you copy?"

"got it," Joey said, while Chris turned the jeep sharply off the road, driving down the embankment and into the woods, as far into the thick underbrush as he could.

"Can you walk?" Joey said, leaning down over Justin. Justin nodded, already scrambling out of the jeep.

Chris and Joey spent ten minutes pulling boughs over the jeep, and then they turned into the woods, walking first, and then Chris broke into a steady jog.

"Chris--" Joey said.

"No--I'm. I can," Justin said, and they started to jog, then, slowly, Chris, then Justin, Joey bringing up the rear, scrambling through the dense forest as quickly as they could.

After an hour, Chris stopped abruptly, and Justin nearly ran into him, stopping, and then swaying, slightly. Joey dug a ration bar out of his pocket and gave it to Justin,

"I, um--" Justin said, making a face. Chris walked away from them, to the edge of the clearing.

"eat it," Joey said, and handed Justin his canteen when he took a bite.

"Fuck," Chris said, coming back to them. "put that away," he said to Joey, who took the canteen slowly back from Justin, taking a drink himself. Then they all heard it. Shouts, and the shuffling of many men through heavy forest, and dogs barking.

"We need to run," Chris said, fishing a flashlight out of his pack, and then pulling the straps tight.

They ran then, pushing through underbrush, their way lit only by the uncertain bobbing of the flashlight. Branches snapped back behind him, into Justin and Joey's faces. Justin fell more than once, rolling onto his side and letting Joey pull him back up before they began to run again, the sounds of men and dogs pushing them forward. Justin's lungs hurt, and he could hear Joey's labored breath behind him, and he looked at Chris' back, and tried not to think of anything but moving his feet. Justin stumbled, and a branch snapped back behind Chris into his face, catching him across the mouth. He gasped, biting his lip, and Chris said

"Shut up," sharply, and then there were three sharp shots in the darkness, and Joey shoved him down, falling on top of him, one hand pressing his face against the ground.

"Fuck," Chris said, "I'll take care of it--meet you at home," he said, and dropped the flashlight next to them.

"Come on," Joey said, and grabbed his hand, pulling him through the woods in the opposite direction, half carrying him, and they ran uphill, unmindful of noise, splashed through a small stream, knee deep, and ran until they'd dried out, and Justin had forgotten that there was ever a time when he wasn't running, when Joey stopped him, one hand on his arm.

"Stop," he said. "We're stopping."

It was too dark to see very much, but Justin gulped for air gratefully, and leaned against a tree trunk. "how long?" he finally asked.

"daybreak," Joey said. "I think we lost them."

"um." Justin said. "okay."

"So." Joey sat down, and got out his canteen, giving it to Justin. Justin sat down next to him and drank from it unsteadily. "We should try to get some sleep," Joey said. He was still breathing with some difficulty, and his shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his back. Justin nodded, and gave him back the canteen. The ground was hard and rocky, dusted with pine-needles that stuck to them with sap. Joey lay down, and after a pause Justin lay down too, curling up carefully next to him, not quite touching. When Justin moved restlessly, trying to get comfortable, Joey put his hand on Justin's hip and pulled Justin up against him. Justin leaned back and shivered once, and Joey rubbed a hand up his arm, and they were silent.

"I thought," Justin said quietly. "I didn't know if you would come," he muttered, after a pause.

"Justin," Joey said, and tried to pull Justin more tightly against him. Justin leaned back against his chest for a moment, and then shifted awkwardly in his arms, turning to face him. He picked at Joey's shirt, and his breathing was quick and distressed.

"I tried. like you showed me," he said. "I fought but--"

"I know," Joey said. "I. Justin, I know you did." And because he had waited long enough, he leaned down and twined his fingers in the damp curls at the base of Justin's neck and kissed him softly on the mouth. Justin made a hot small noise, and tilted his head back easily, hands coming up to Joey's chest, while Joey pressed him slowly back against the ground, one hand on his waist.

"Open your mouth, baby," Joey whispered, and Justin did.


	23. blurring a little

It took the most of the next day to get home. Joey walked in front of him, and didn't say much of anything, his face sunk in hard exhausted lines. Justin wondered how long it had been since Joey had slept, and he touched his lips when he was sure Joey wasn't looking. Joey had smiled at him that morning, and kissed him carefully, tilting his head and leaning forward, his thumb running a soothing line down Justin's jaw. "We should get going," he said, and then kissed Justin again, laughing when Justin put his arms around his neck. "come on," he said, but let Justin press his mouth against his again before making him stand up.

Lance met them in the the lower hallway.

"you're all right," he asked, and Joey nodded. "Chris," Lance said.

"we split up." Joey leaned heavily against the wall. "He not back yet?"

Lance shook his head, and opened his mouth to say something, then looked more closely at Justin and only said "I'll see you in the morning."

"I'm sorry," Justin said. Lance nodded.

 

* * *

In the bedroom, Joey washed his face and hands, and pulled the blinds shut against the afternoon sun. Justin sat on the bed to pull his boots off, and when Joey came out of the bathroom, Justin eyed the shower wistfully, but the thought of getting in and having to stand there and wash himself was overwhelming, so he scrubbed his face and hands and arms with soap and drank a glass of water. When he came out of the bathroom, Joey was already in bed, sheets and blanket pulled up over him.

Justin pulled on a clean pair of underwear and slid into bed beside him, and Joey shifted, slightly. "you okay?" he mumbled.

"Just cold," Justin said, because he was shivering.

"hey," Joey said, and put a hand on Justin's shoulder, and then he was really shaking, quivering tightly under Joey's hand, blinking back tears.

"I was. I'm sorry," he said. "I'm being kind of. I'm--" his mouth crumpled, and he twisted up his face in an effort not to cry.

"oh," Joey said, and pulled Justin toward him, kissing his forehead, then his temple, the corner of his eye. Then more slowly, his cheek. Justin had gone still against him, was running shy hands down his chest.

"Justin," Joey breathed, buried his face in Justin's neck, wet lips on his collarbone, "baby," he moaned. Joey rolled over on top of him, shoving a leg in between his thighs, and Justin felt himself blushing, letting Joey push his thighs open and up, shivering at Joey's approving murmur in his ear, Joey's tongue curling around his earlobe, and then there was nothing to do but hold on. Slide his hands around Joey's waist, pulling his undershirt up so he could clutch at the hot strong bunching muscles of his back as Joey raised himself up on one hand long enough to shove Justin's underwear down, greedy hand sliding over his ass, Joey's thumb digging bruisingly against his hip for a moment before the underwear was around his thighs, constricting, and he tried to move but Joey was on top of him, again, resting his full weight on Justin, his damp undershirt crumpled between them, kissing him while Justin panted underneath him.

"You feel," Joey muttered, forehead against Justin's shoulder, "fuck." he took a deep breath. "fucking great," he said, and Justin wished he could see Joey's face.

Joey sucked on his collarbone and pried his legs further apart, fingernails scraping over his thighs, the elastic digging into the side of his leg. He tried to duck his head to catch Joey's mouth, but he couldn't, and he bit his lip and tried not to make any noise. He could feel Joey's cock, hard and wet, pressing into his belly. He wiggled carefully, and then Joey began to move, shoving his hips against Justin, face buried in his neck, one hand gripping his ass, pressing Justin harder and harder into the bed until he was gasping softly, his ribs crushed under Joey, his vision blurring a little. It didn't hurt, he told himself, and Joey grunted in his ear, and shoved a few more times against him before coming, panting harshly.

Justin arranged his limbs a little more comfortably around Joey and waited, but Joey didn't move.

"Joey," Justin said, and then touched his shoulder cautiously, but Joey only shuddered, and began to snore. The room was very quiet. Justin shifted carefully, moving slowly out from under Joey, stopping whenever Joey moved and lying still until Joey quieted again.

In the bathroom, he pulled off his underwear and wiped off his stomach with a wet washcloth. He tried to rearrange his expression properly in the mirror, and failed. He was just tired, he told himself, and folded himself up on the floor for a moment, resting his cheek against the tile wall. He thought about jerking off, touched his cock, but his back ached, and his feet had blisters on them, so in the end he only put the underwear in the laundry bag, and put on another clean pair.

Joey was asleep in the middle of the bed, face down, and Justin slid up next to him and curled an arm around his waist, even though Joey was too hot, and being pressed against him made sweat bloom across the back of Justin's shoulders, as though in sympathy.


	24. split up

Lance stopped by to tell him.

"Joe said they split up," he said.

"oh," JC said. Lance crossed his arms and leaned back against one of the tables in the workroom. "well, you know Chris," JC said.

"right."

"they're okay?"

"yeah."

"well, thanks for, um." JC said, after a long moment.

"anytime," Lance said, and left, nodding briskly at Bug on the way out.


	25. blood

He woke up because Joey was shoving insistently at him, muttering in his ear, and then he woke up a little more and Joey was on top of him again. Justin wiggled a little, trying to get comfortable, and wrapped one arm around Joey's shoulder. Joey's undershirt was clammy with sweat, sticking to him, and when Justin pulled his hand away, his palm was covered in something wet and sticky. He sat up and turned on the light, and his hand was red with mucus and blood. Joey grimaced and squirmed restlessly, one hand scraping across Justin's thigh. The sheets where he had been lying were wet as well, and there was a spreading rusty stain down the back of his undershirt.

 

* * *

"what," Lance said, yanking the door open. He was wearing only a pair of faded green pants, the button at the top of the zipper undone.

"Joey," Justin said. The concrete floor was cold on the soles of his feet. "I think he's sick."

"what?"

"I think--he's bleeding," Justin blurted out, wanting to grab Lance and shake him, pull him into the hallway. Lance glanced backwards into his bedroom, and his mouth tightened, but he stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut. "come on," Justin said.

 

* * *

Joey was pale and sweating, and his shirt was stuck to him, soaking wet.

"Fuck," Lance said, and walked over to the bed. He put a careful hand on Joey's arm, and Joey flinched away from him, moaning. Lance picked the knife up off the bedside table and cut the collar of Joey's shirt open, ripping the shirt down the length of his back and peeling it slowly off the wound. "oh, fuck," he said again, and Justin stepped closer. There was a long red furrow across Joey's shoulder, swollen and pink and brown around the edges, oozing blood and puss. Lance put the knife down and ran a hand through his hair.

"Jesus fuck," he said, "when did he get that?"

"I don't. it must have been last night," Justin faltered, remembering shots, Joey pushing him down.

"How could you not notice that?" Lance said angrily, and Justin flinched, and said he didn't know.

"Lance," Joey muttered, and Lance's hand hovered uncertainly over Joey's head.

"all right," Lance said. "Go get some fresh towels and a clean set of sheets."

 

Justin pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt, and ran down to the linen cabinet at the end of the hallway. When he got back, Joey's undershirt was in pieces on the floor, and Lance was kneeling by the bed, wringing out a washcloth into a basin. He wiped Joey's face, gently.

"Lance," Joey said, shifting uncomfortably.

"hey," Lance said, and pushed Joey's hair back off his forehead.

"did something--"

"you're gonna be okay," Lance said, and dipped the cloth into the water again. When he saw Justin out of the corner of his eye, he said, more sharply, "you've got rubbing alcohol, right?"

"I'll um. I'll find it," Justin said, and put the stack of sheets and towels on the chair. While he was rummaging through the medicine cabinet, he heard Joey say,

"Lance--"

"yeah, I'm here," Lance said.

"Lance," Joey said urgently.

"mm-hmm?" Lance said. There was a soft sound of water splashing, and then Joey said,

"Justin's gone."

Justin found the bottle of rubbing alcohol. Lance said "You'll get him back."

 

* * *

Lance finished wiping the stray bits of cotton and dirt off the wound, with Joey flinching underneath him, and then he picked up the alcohol and soaked a fresh cloth with it, methodically, not looking at Joey.

"You'll have to hold him," he said, and Justin climbed onto the bed and put his hands tentatively on Joey's other shoulder, hands slipping a little over the sweaty skin. "No, you have to--get on top of him," Lance said. When Justin hesitated, Lance said, a little more clearly. "He's going to move around, and I don't want to hurt him anymore than I have to." Justin blinked, and then nodded and put a leg over Joey's waist, sitting down firmly, and pressing one hand against the unhurt shoulder.

"Did we get Justin?" Joey asked, twitching a little.

"yeah," Lance said. He lifted his chin at Justin as though to warn him, and then pressed the alcohol-soaked cloth to Joey's shoulder. Joey grunted and lurched up against Justin, and Lance had to grab his shoulder to keep him still, and Joey let out a hoarse low scream and tried to curl up, to roll over onto his back. Between the two of them, they got him straightened out again, but a sheen of sweat had broken out on Lance's shoulders.

"I told you to hold him still," Lance said, harshly.

"I'm doing my best," Justin said, pressing down in an effort to keep Joey still.

"Lance," Joey mumbled. "Justin's gone."

"I know," Lance said.

"He's lost, they took him."

"You'll get him back."

They didn't say anything else to each other until Lance was finished. Joey sobbed soundlessly, panting underneath them, and Lance's head was bent down closely enough over the wound that Justin could only see the tips of his eyelashes. He tightened his grip on Joey.

"okay," Lance said, finally, and went into the bathroom and came out with gauze and bandages, aspirin, and water in a chipped plastic cup they used to hold their toothbrushes, and taped a careful loose bandage over the length of the wound, before forcing Joey to take the aspirin and drink some of the water, cupping the back of Joey's head, tilting the cup against his mouth, and muttering coaxingly, too low for Justin to hear.

Together, he and Justin changed the sheets, rolling Joey carefully back and forth on the bed. They didn't look at each other. Joey had lapsed into uneasy sleep, and Lance took the basin of bloody water into the bathroom while Justin pushed the pile of soiled sheets and clothes to the corner of the room, threw away the wrappers the gauze had come in, and the remains the Joey's undershirt.

Lance came out of the bathroom with a fresh basin of water, steaming slightly, and a clean washcloth. He walked toward the bed, swirling the washcloth through the water. He put one knee on the bed and wrung out the cloth, one handed,

"Where's Justin?" Joey said, Lance's face changed. faltered, a little.

"He's, um." He turned quickly and shoved the basin into Justin's hands, the water sloshing over the side and wetting the cuffs of Justin's shirt.

"what am I--"

"just wipe him down again," Lance said. "come get me if he starts to look worse."

"but--"

"I'll come by in the morning and check," Lance said, and stepped briskly into the hallway, closing the door behind him.


	26. fault

Justin lost track of time, leaning back in the chair, watching the rise and fall of Joey's back, the bulky bandages that were shockingly white against the dark tan of Joey's skin. He was half asleep in spite of himself when there was a quiet knock on the door. JC smiled at him when he opened the door a crack, and then stepped inside, handing him a cup of coffee.

"He's doing all right?" he asked in an undertone, while Justin sipped gingerly at it. His mouth felt bruised, still, tender.

"that was fast," Justin said.

"the grapevine," JC shrugged, and then, more specifically, "Bug."

"He's, um, okay, I think," Justin said. He leaned one shoulder against the wall, cupping his hands around the mug, and and JC looked at him appraisingly for a moment before saying

"Why don't you take a shower," holding up a restraining hand when Justin began to protest. "I'll sit with him for a while."

 

* * *

Even lukewarm, the shower stung painfully against the new scabs on his knees and the heels of his hands. There were still little bits of embedded grit in them, and when he tried to scrub them out, they began to bleed again. With his hands tied, at the pace they had been going, he had had a hard time keeping his balance, and he'd skinned his palms almost immediately, trying to break his fall. The fourth time he'd fallen, right before he began to lose track, he'd been too slow to get up, and someone had kicked him, not hard, but hard enough that he'd grunted, and bitten his tongue by mistake.

The night before, the first night, they had asked him who he was and where he had come from so suddenly and he'd said, only,

"I don't know." Someone had slapped him across the face, and the world snapped dizzily around for a moment, but he remembered to say, again, "I don't know."

The leader had finally grabbed him by the hair and yanked his face back, peering at him, mouth tight.

"Forget it," he'd said. "all these fuckers have  _principles_." Then he dropped Justin on the ground in disgust, and said they'd wait for him to get a little hungrier.

The next day, they'd walked, and his new boots had given him painful blisters, but he was almost grateful, because they made him forget aboutJoey getting back, the sheets he had smoothed so carefully across their bed. That night, Joey found him.

 

* * *

JC was sitting in the chair by the bed, back bent, but he looked up when Justin came out, and smiled. The shower had re-opened the cut over Justin's eye, and JC made him sit down and leaned over him, putting several small butterfly bandages over it, to hold the skin together.

"Chris," Justin said, and JC's fingers didn't falter.

"not back yet," he said.

After he left, Justin sat down in the chair again, to think about things that were his fault.


	27. stranger

He didn't turn on the light because JC was asleep, but the noise he made unbuckling his belt, the soft clinks as he put his gun on the bureau and unstrapped his knives, woke him. JC shifted on the pillow and rolled over, and his eyes gleamed oddly in the darkness. He stared, but he didn't move, and Chris finished unlacing his boots and pulled them off, took a small step towards the bed, and JC reached for him then, pulling himself up so the covers fell off his shoulders, and Chris went.

"You're--" JC said, and then nothing else, gripping Chris' arms tightly and pulling him down for a kiss, opening his mouth when Chris tipped him backwards on the bed, crawled up over him, and kissed JC as hard as he wanted to. The light from the moon lit JC up in pale strips and he grabbed at Chris' shoulders when Chris brushed his lips against his collarbone.

JC kissed him back, pulled his hair, scrabbled at his clothes, reached between them to get at the buttons on Chris' shirt, pushing him insistently over onto his back, and they were awkward together, JC's elbows smacking him in the ribs, his grip too tight on JC's waist before he remembered to loosen his fingers. He'd had to hole up for six or seven hours in a cave the night before, and he was dirty, still, clothes stuck to him with sweat, but JC didn't seem to care. He pulled Chris' shirt open, pushed it half off his shoulders, shoved the t-shirt underneath up over Chris' chest, sliding his hands over Chris' torso before seeming to lose interest, and undoing the buttons on Chris' pants, rough hands on his thighs, the room silent except for JC's impatient panting.

JC had gotten thinner, lately, and the lines of his face were sharp in the dim light, his ribs prominent against Chris' hands. He touched Chris' face, stroked one slow finger up Chris' cheek, and then he saw Chris looking at him, and dropped his eyes, ground his hips into Chris, slid lower, lashes dark on his cheeks, put his hand deliberately around Chris' cock and flashed him a broad false smile. Chris wanted to tell him to stop, felt oddly cheated when JC licked his lower lip, and lowered his mouth to Chris' cock, one steadying hand on Chris' hip.

It wasn't the way he wanted it, but it would have to do because it was what JC wanted, and after, he got to pull JC against him, kiss the back of his neck, nuzzle up underneath the soft curls at JC's hairline, jerk him off while while he shuddered and gasped, twining his foot around Chris' ankle, gripping Chris' hands tightly at the end, moaning a little.

He fell asleep before he meant to.

In the morning, JC put on his clothes without looking at him, told him about Joey, and was the same careful stranger he had begun to be to Chris. Chris thought about asking him to come back to bed, and was afraid to ask.

In the morning, nothing had changed.


	28. flinch

It came back to him slowly. He remembered, first, that he'd been kissing Justin, in the darkness, with Justin sighing and putting his arms around his neck, unbuttoning his outer shirt enough to be able to put his hands against Joey's chest, tilting his neck back to be kissed. He'd bent his knee up along Joey's side, their clothes rustling softly together, and Joey had slid the flat of his hand up the outside of Justin's thigh, and Justin had put his hands in Joey's hair and tugged him up to his mouth. When Joey had said they had to stop, he'd sighed in regret, but curled his body into Joey's and fallen asleep, almost immediately.

That was what came first, the phantom memory of Justin's mouth, his excited breathing, the feel of his kneecap in Joey's hand.

He remembered other things, too: the bite of elastic against his fingers, and Justin whimpering, Justin completely still beneath him, the soft skin of his belly against his dick, and Joey squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again, Justin was smiling at him, holding a plate of toast and a glass of the fortified fruit powder drink that they were forced to drink when they were sick, and he couldn't have done it, Joey told himself. He couldn't have.

By the next morning, he knew that he had.

 

* * *

He waited for Justin to flinch from him, to be angry with him or refuse to sleep in the same bed, but Justin only smiled and asked if he needed anything, and slept next to him at night happily.

"are you sure you want to sleep here?" Joey said, as soon as he remembered, when Justin was taking off his clothes and folding them. Justin blinked, and looked concerned.

"am I--is your shoulder hurting you?"

"no, just." Joey bit the inside of his cheek. "I just thought you might not want to."

"oh," Justin said. "um, well." He got into bed and lay down, turned towards Joey, face clear of accusation.

He wondered what it would take to make Justin hate him, as he certainly ought to now, thought about where Justin had learned to let people treat him the way he did, and came to believe that it was something he had done, that he had a part in making it happen. There was something about the way he was that had made Justin misunderstand everything, made Justin liable to letting people hurt him without noticing that he had been hurt, even. Thinking about fucking Justin made him want to punish himself, and then Justin would bring him tea, or change his bandage, fingers careful on his back.

"about," he said, after he was well enough to be up. "Justin. about. the night that."

"oh," Justin said, and sat down on the bed.

"I'm sorry," Joey said, and Justin smiled at him, an eager happy smile.

"well, that's--you didn't mean to," he said.

"no," Joey said, and it wasn't enough.

"so--"

"It won't happen again," Joey said.

"but--"

"It won't happen again." He patted Justin's knee impersonally, and then got to his feet and left the room.


	29. rain check

"Another time," she'd said, shrugging and pulling on her shirt, yawning a little. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, waiting for him.

"yeah," he said.

"He'll be okay?" She scrubbed her hair back out of her face and fished a rubber band out of her pocket to make a lopsided ponytail.

"He'll be okay," he said.

"well," she hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. "you want a blowjob or something?"

"another time," he said.

 

 

* * *

"What's your real name?" he'd asked once.

"None of your business," she said, squirming a little to get her legs more tightly around his waist.

 

* * *

She let herself into his room four days later.

"rain check?" she said, and when he nodded, walked swiftly towards him, pulling her shirt off over her head, and he met her halfway, shoving back his chair and putting an arm around her waist, swinging her up, one hand under her ass. She wrapped an arm around his neck and kissed him while he stepped around the work table, scattered with papers and blueprints, carried her to the bed.

"Bad week," she said, smiling ruefully at him.

"Bad," he said, and kissed her again, hard, put her down on the bed long enough to yank off his clothes. She scooted back and hooked her pants down off her hips at the same time, dumping them onto the floor in a crumpled heap. Lance put his hand on her ankle and pulled her closer, putting one hand flat on the bed next to her hip and leaning to kiss her.

"m." She tilted her head back and put a hand in his hair, and then moved back enough to pull him onto the bed with her. He ran his hands over her shoulders, the old scars on her ribs, still kissing, their lips slipping neatly together, and she scrambled closer, pushing him down until he was sitting, leaning against the wall. She bent and kissed his knee, and then ran her hands up his thighs, slid into his lap, and he boosted her up enough to kiss her collarbones, her breasts, until she was digging her hands into his shoulders restlessly. When he let her down, she pressed him back, grinding, holding one of his wrists against the wall, and he laughed, almost, when she mouthed his throat, curled her tongue around his earlobe.

"okay," she said in his ear, voice rough.

"okay," he said, and she reached across him, pawed the bedside drawer open with the tips of her fingers, fishing out a condom. She held it up to the light and squinted at the expiration date, her other hand on Lance's cock, making slow spirals. She nodded, and pulled the wrapper open, putting the condom on Lance carefully, biting her lip, before sliding down on him, both of them making soft involuntary noises.

Bug pressed her face into his neck when she moved, and he could only tell when she came because of the tremors in her legs, her damp breath against his neck, and when she was done she let him flip her over, brace himself over her, and she smiled up at him quietly, high flush in her cheeks, and held on.

 

"Roll over," she said, after, and when he did, started to scratch the place between his shoulderblades delicately with her short sharp nails.

"I think this is probably kind of fucking with my mystique," he mumbled, and she snorted derisively, and slid off the bed, picking up her pants and pulling them on. After a moment, Lance got up and started putting on his clothes as well.

"thanks," she said when he tossed her her shirt on his way to his table, and by the time she left, he was seated back at the table, frowning at a set of security reports.

He thought maybe it was getting out of hand, but Bug said

"I'll decide when it gets out of hand," and he trusted her in that. She came to his room when she felt like it, half arranged by their silent nods when they met in the hallway. He never knew if she would be able to come, hindered by the care of a half a dozen subsystems that kept them in light and heat and water, but she came when he needed her, and he did need her, as much as he needed anyone.


	30. everybody does it

At first it was that Joey was still sick, even though he got up and got dressed every morning. At night, though, he was exhausted, and he'd let Justin change his bandage, and then fall heavily asleep, curled tightly on his side of the bed. At first, that was why. But Joey was strong, and he got better quickly, but he didn't start touching Justin in bed again, even a little, a hand on the back of his neck or his waist, he didn't look at Justin when he was gettin dressed anymore, and he never came back to the room before it was time to go to bed.

It took Justin a few weeks to stop waiting for him, doing his work in the room at night in case Joey came back with a newspaper, or wanted to give him another lesson in fighting, but Joey didn't come, except after Justin had given up and gone to bed alone.

It had seemed romantic in the woods, with Joey's thumb stroking his cheek, Joey's mouth gentle on his, sweet and perfect in spite of the hard ground beneath them, his aching legs, that Joey would be his first first, but the days went by, and it started to seem embarrassing, and he realized that he must have done something wrong. It made him feel hot and miserable, the memories running around inside him like frantic little animals in a cage, all the things hadn't known how to do, and he'd just lain there, and perhaps if he'd moved, or touched Joey differently, or done anything at all except what he'd done, Joey would still want him.

He hadn't even known how to kiss right. No one at his school had wanted to kiss him.

He should have packed up his things and moved back into the barracks, because he didn't want to bother Joey, who slept dangerously close to the edge of the bed, back to Justin, always, now, who averted his eyes whenever Justin started to get undressed, who barely even talked to him. He couldn't quite do it, though. He kept hoping Joey would change his mind, that Joey would decide he deserved a second chance. He promised himself he wouldn't fuck it up, not if Joey just let him try one more time. He'd thought Joey liked him enough for that, but weeks passed, and Joey didn't touch him, not even his hand, not even during meals when he asked for the pepper.

He thought about the summer he was fourteen, when his father sent him a brief typed letter telling him that he'd payed for tuition over the summer, with an enclosed check for pocket money, in case he needed anything. His secretary had signed it with his name, the looping script cramped and awkward in imitation. He'd kept the letter in his desk for a long time, as a reminder, as a warning, and now he wished that he'd packed the letter when he came, because he needed it, the half a paragraph on company letterhead, the sharp black letters telling him exactly what he was to the people in his life.

 

* * *

JC had asked him to drop off the latest set of field reports for Lance, and he had just come around the corner when he saw Bug step into the hallway, closing Lance's door quietly behind her. She tucked in her shirt, stretching her shoulders back a bit, luxuriously. Her hair was sticking out at odd angles, and she smoothed a hand over it and then saw Justin. She smiled crookedly at him, shrugging one shoulder, before starting purposefully down the hall. As she passed him, he saw that her neck was pink, abraided slightly, with a soft lilac bruise in the hollow of her throat.

"so, um," he said, a week later, carefully not looking at her.

"yeah," she said. She twisted three wires deftly together and snipped them off at the end.

"but he's--

"It's no big deal, Justin," she said. "It's. convenient." She handed him the pliers. "Everyone does it," she said.

"sure, everyone," he mumbled.

"it's good," she said. "he's, uh--" and then she didn't say anything else.

 

 

good, Justin thought. He's good.


	31. all he knew how to do

He thought they might never touch again, that JC might never let him again, never press his cheek against his shoulder or put an arm across his chest, or that if he did, it would be pity or habit. JC seemed prettier these days, now that he couldn't touch him, warm, and graceful, even with the shapeless wool sweater he wore the afternoons when it rained. JC got cold easily.

He had been working with Joey on weapons inventory for the past week, trying to salvage a cache of rusted guns and knives they'd scavenged from an abandoned camp. It was the afternoon of the second day of disassembling rusty old-model guns and oiling them down, trying to reassemble full weapons from the parts that weren't too far gone before Chris noticed that Joey wasn't talking. Joey was normally cheerful; whistling, and telling stories, but the two of them had been working in silence broken only the muted scrapes and clanks of the weaponry.

"so," Chris said, and when Joey lifted his head, Chris noticed that his face was almost haggard, dark circles underneath his eyes. "Justin's, um. all right," he asked casually, trying to think of the last time he'd seen Justin, and only coming up with the bleak exhaustion on his face the night they'd rescued him, weeks ago now.

"He's. sure." Joey nodded, and bent his head over the gun again.

"Well, you'll cheer him up," Chris said, aimlessly.

Joey went still, his head bent over the wetstone, fingers rubbing slowly along the oily blade of the knife he had been sharpening. "We don't. do that," he said softly.

 

* * *

He would come back to the bedroom one day, and JC would be gone. He could see that it would happen, and that he wouldn't be able to stop it. He thought about grabbing JC, forcing him to the bed, forcing his mouth and thighs open, and knew that he could, that JC would crumple underneath him, let him, and that he could have JC as much as he wanted, and that it would change nothing. All he knew how to do was kill things.

 

* * *

He had gone down to the workroom to ask if JC wanted to eat dinner with him, the type of last ditch clumsy gestures he had been reduced to. The door was open a crack, and Chris nudged it open further before seeing. JC was sitting on the high counter at the end of the room with Justin between his knees, Justin's face pressed against his neck, just the pink edge of his cheek visible. JC's head was bent over Justin's shoulder, lips next to his temple, and as Chris watched, JC slid one hand from Justin's shoulder to the back of his neck, stroking slowly, and Justin pressed in closer, wrapping one arm tightly around JC's waist.

Chris stepped slowly back out of the doorway, tapping the door almost closed with his fingers. He ate dinner alone, remembering the sharp grief in Joey's voice, the rich flush of Justin's cheek, JC's lips moving soundlessly, the slow stroke of his hand on the nape of Justin's neck.

 


	32. remain silent

He woke up early in the morning now, no matter that he had fallen into bed well past midnight. He woke with no memory of sleep, only of staring at the faint outlines of Chris' back, turned away from him in the darkness. He got up as soon as it was light, put on his clothes, and went down to the workoom. Lately, Justin was there as early as he was, looking pale and dull and old in the morning, skin stretched too tightly across his cheekbones, hair a frowsy tangle.

JC kept meaning to ask Cleo if they could find Justin some new clothes; his pants fit him awkwardly, and were much too short. He forgot each day, forgot everything when Chris looked at him with dismal betrayal in his eyes.

He told Justin that he didn't need to come so early, but Justin shook his head, hastily, and said it was all right.

"It's just I haven't been sleeping," JC said, "so I come down here."

"There's um. If you ask, in the kitchen," Justin said, "they have some tea."

"That works?"

"Not really," Justin said, and smiled at him ruefully.

 

* * *

They worked all day despite the fact that they were going through a slow period, and there wasn't very much to do. Lance had shut himself up in his rooms and told JC he didn't want to be disturbed for new projects unless the place was falling down. They fiddled half-heartedly with trying to decrypt a code they'd already decided they couldn't, and Justin spent a lot of time looking out the narrow windows that were flush with the ceiling and tapping his fingers against the table. JC made them tea at intervals on the hotplate, using the tea leaves Chris had brought back for him one time, a thin metal tin, intricately embossed. Chris had smiled, and dropped it into his lap, leaned down and kissed his neck. The tea went cold, undrunk, but he made it anyway for something to do. It took 12 minutes for the water to boil, and another five for the tea to steap. Justin always accepted a mug, and then put it down next to whatever he was pretending to work on.

Anomalies cropped up occasionally, and they were grateful for them. They had a full afternoon, once, of monitoring encrypted broadcasts, until Justin broke the code and realized it was about the potential for a problem with waste disposal in the city 140 miles south of them, encrypted only out of habit. They sat on the floor of the com room, and it was pleasantly warm from the heat of the equipment. Justin stretched out his legs and sighed, barely audible over the pervasive low hum from the board.

"waste," JC said, and tipped his head back against the wall.

"garbage truck maintenance," Justin said.

"I'll make some tea," JC said, and got to his feet.

 

* * *

When the broken blender came in from the kitchen, JC let Justin fix it, because he asked, and because he smiled when JC shrugged and handed him the blender. He snuck a nap on the cot they'd set up in the storage closet, and slept away the afternoon, more tired than he'd thought he was. When he came back into the room, Justin was staring at the carefully disassembled blender, turning a screwdriver over restlessly in his hands. JC boosted himself up on the work bench next to him, and leaned over to look at what Justin had done.

"You, um--you messed up the wiring here," he said. He picked up another screwdriver to point out the mistake. "I think if you--" and then he stopped, because Justin had begun to cry, silently, tears spilling down over his cheeks while he knit his lips together.

"Justin--" JC said, and Justin made a horrified choking noise, and looked away, the tears starting to drip down off his chin. JC put his hand on Justin's forearm and pulled him closer, slid an arm around Justin's shoulder, holding on when Justin tried to shake him off, face crumpling with the effort to remain silent, his breathing labored and uneven

He held on, and Justin stared resolutely down, his cheeks turning a mottled red, and when JC said, quietly, "It's okay," Justin shook his head, and began to sob, tucking his head in against JC's shoulder. The skin of his cheek was wet and soft against JC's neck, and his sweater was rough wool. JC touched his back awkwardly, and Justin's shoulders shook in his arms, his breath coming in violent gasps.

"shh, now," JC said, whispering into Justin's ear, stroking the back of his neck.

He pulled Justin closer and bent his head over his shoulder, and Justin coiled an arm around his waist, pressing in tightly against his chest, quieting a little now, shuddering, still. JC rubbed his hand absently against Justin's shoulder, and told him it would be all right, thought of his younger sister. She had been clumsy as a child, often hurt, skinned knees and elbows, but she had never cried with Justin's desperate grief, the grief of something lost and gone, something irreparable.


	33. sabotage

Sabotage, Lance explained, leaning over, bracing his hands on the edge of the table. They would go in, pull the information they needed, and destroy as much of the equipment as they could.

"The facility's been responsible for most of our attrition," Lance said quietly, and when he slanted his eyes at JC, JC nodded. "We can go in at night, avoid any encounters," Lance said. "I don't want this traced to us." They spend the rest of the meeting talking about making it look like an accident, an electrical fire. JC and Lance did most of the talking, spreading the onionskin blueprints out on the table, where they crinkled and tried to roll up. Justin held a corner and answered the occasional question about viruses. Joey put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his clasped hands, frowning, a little. Chris was silent and watchful at the end of the table.

They filtered out slowly at the end of the meeting, JC already scribbling notes in the margins of a field report, but Lance glanced up from the table and said,

"Justin, can you stay for a minute?" He waited until the rest of them had left before standing, and closing the door.

"There's a problem."

"with. did I--"

"There are random walk-throughs," Lance said.

"oh."

"The colonel is restless at night. seven out of the last nine have been during the time that we'd be there."

"the other times?"

"He was, um. distracted." Lance rubbed a tired hand over his face. "He likes prostitutes."

Justin nodded.

"boys," Lance said.

There was a long silence. Justin crossed his arms, and then uncrossed them, knit his fingers together. Lance stood up, his chair scraping backwards over the floor.

"I need you to be--to go in," he said finally.

"oh," Justin said.

"You don't have to," Lance said, and when Justin made a small sound of protest, said "no, listen. don't. if you can't do it, then. don't."

"What will you do then?"

"I don't know," Lance said. He shoved back his chair and stood, gathering the papers on the table together into a stack and dumping them into a manila folder.

"I'll do it," Justin said.

"I don't," Lance looked down at the table, and then back up. "it's sex," he said, "and--"

"I know what prostitution is," Justin said.

"You don't know," Lance said sharply, "you--"

"Why did you ask if you're not going to let me do it?" Justin's voice sounded shrill in the empty room, but he kept on talking. "you don't have a way around this, and this is the best way, so--"

"Fine," Lance said, and slammed the folder back down, stepped around the corner of the table, moving quickly, and Justin stepped back involuntarily and hit the wall. Lance grabbed his wrist and pinned it against the wall with one hand, and yanked Justin's head down with the other hand, kissing him hard, fingers digging into the back of Justin's skull, pulling his hair.

Just a test, Justin knew, and he tried to relax, slumping a little against the wall, putting his free hand tentatively on Lance's hip. He opened his mouth obediently when Lance shoved his tongue inside, and then Lance slid his hand down Justin's back, slowly, thumb tracing down across his ribs. He tilted his head and ground his lips more insistently against Justin's, and then ran his fingers around the waistband of Justin's pants, unbuttoning them one-handed, sliding a hand inside Justin's underwear, over his hip, slow insinuating fingers cupping his ass, tongue working in his mouth, and Justin whimpered then, shivering, fingernails scraping against the fabric of Lance's pants.

Lance grabbed his other wrist and slammed it back against the wall, holding him tightly.

"I'm sor--" Justin said.

"He could make you suck his cock," Lance said, and pushed him harder against the wall, so Justin's head banged against the concrete, pressed his thigh up in between Justin's. "He could fuck you, and you couldn't do a goddam thing about it."

"I know," Justin whispered.

"be sure," Lance said, his eyes glinting oddly in the pale fluorescent light.

"I am."

"It won't be like it is with Joey," Lance said softly.

 


	34. forgiveness

The door wasn't even latched securely, so it swung open easily when Joey touched it. He'd only gone back to pick up the blueprints to begin memorizing layout, but the door swung open on Lance holding Justin's wrists, kissing him viciously, Justin meek and motionless against the wall. He had one hand curled loosely on Lance's waist, but the rest of him was stiff and nervous, neck bent at an uncomfortable angle. Lance pulled his mouth away from Justin's at the creak of the door and stared at Joey expressionlessly. Then he stepped back, dropping Justin's wrists. "You can go," he said, not unkindly, and Justin ducked around him, scrabbling his pants shut. He caught Joey's gaze for a moment, and then averted his eyes, staring at the ground and stepping carefully around him in the narrow doorway. His cheeks were a painful blotchy red, and his mouth looked raw and wet. Joey waited until he had gone down the hallway to step inside, close the door after him. Lance wiped the back of his hand roughly across his mouth.

"We need a decoy," he said.

"No," Joey said.

"You've read the file." Lance shrugged, and walked over to the long low chest in the corner of the room. "I'll get you those blueprints."

"You can't do this," Joey said to his back.

"It's the best way."

"Not for Justin--"

"For all of us," Lance said tersely, turning back around.

"He's a kid."

"No he's not."

"You fucking bastard," Joey said, helplessly, but he said it without heat, and Lance nodded.

"I'll get you those blueprints," he said.

 

* * *

Lance waited until Joey had gone, footsteps echoing distantly in the hallway, before going downstairs and finding Bug, opening the door of her tiny room without knocking. Her back was bent over the table, but she didn't lift her head, even when he traced a line down the back of her neck. It was dark, just past dusk, the only light the old yellow desklamp on her table, and he turned her around and lifted her up onto the table within in the soft circle of light, dustmotes flying around them, and kissed her neck, sliding his face in underneath the bristly ends of her hair. He stripped off her pants one-handed, kissing a line down the underneath of her jaw, tipping her backwards on the desk, hand braced in the small of her back. He dropped the condom into her hand and unzipped his pants, and she put on the condom on him, forehead against his chest, warm breath seeping through his shirt.

He began to press her backwards onto the desk, one hand cupping the back of her thigh, but she had an entire radiator dismantled, spread out neatly on a grease stained pillowcase, and when he moved, the parts slid and clanked together, and a bolt fell to the floor, and Bug made a faint sound of protest. He scooped her up and stepped around the desk, pressing her tightly against the wall while she dug her hands into his shoulders and pulled his hair. It felt, for a moment, as though they were struggling against each other, soundless and desperate, his hands bruising her hips, her breathing labored, but then she whispered,

"ah, wait-," pulled herself higher, knee grinding painfully into his ribcage, and he slid inside her, and she choked and banged her head back against the wall, and Lance pressed his face against the silky skin of her shoulder, closed his eyes, thought of forgiveness.


	35. stumbling after him

Lance used words like distraction and decoy, but they'd all read the file by now, and knew. Justin kept his hands in his lap and carefully didn't make eye contact with anyone, and Joey sat slumped and silent at the end of the table.

"I could do it," JC said quietly. There was a small silence, and Justin looked up quickly.

"You're too old," Lance said. "We need you outside anyway." Justin smiled across the table at JC, softly.

"These points of entry won't work," Chris said abruptly, and hauled the map towards him roughly, ripping the corner. JC didn't look at him.

 

* * *

One last time, he thought, one more time, and then it would be over, and he could allow it to be over, let JC move his things out. After, he thought, or maybe he'd move his things out, because JC needed space to spread out his projects. He'd tried to wait, to let the thing between them spin away and falter to its natural end, but in the end, he couldn't. He went down to the work room on a dark rainy afternoon, and found JC, who looked startled to see him, but still followed him obediently out the door, as though he were an old habit JC had neglected to break.

They walked silently through the lower hall, but by the time they turned the corner, Chris was holding JC's wrist tightly, pulling him along, and he moved more and more quickly, until JC was stumbling after him, boots clattering clumsily up the stairs behind him. JC was trembling when they got back to the room, and Chris jerked him through the door, turned him around, and pulled his shirt off over his head. JC lifted his arms cooperatively, as though he were a child Chris was undressing, and Chris closed his eyes against the look on his face; he'd promised himself one last time. Chris pulled him closer, fingers on the papery skin on between his shoulderblades, and kissed him fiercely, running his hands down JC's ribcage, cupping his hips. JC swayed closer, touched Chris' waist, and Chris pressed his mouth against his cheek, his jaw, one hand curled tightly in the small of his back, and then pushed him away and pulled off his own clothes, dropping them carelessly on the floor and reaching for JC again.

JC shrank from him, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and undoing his boots before laying back on the bed, and something flickered in his eyes when Chris knelt between his knees, and Chris knew that JC was afraid of him, and should be. His hands were clumsy on the buckle of JC's pants, but JC fixed it for him, pulled his pants down and off himself, and when Chris touched his stomach, JC opened his thighs, put cool careful fingers on the back of Chris' neck. He was half hard already.

Chris bent his head and nuzzled the sweet spot on JC's hip, opening his mouth, and JC jerked unwillingly underneath him, making small frantic sounds when Chris slid his lips slowly upwards, shivering when he pressed his face against the soft skin of his neck. Chris could tell that he was trying not to make noise, twisting uncomfortably against him, putting one foot flat on the bed and arching towards Chris, panting a little, when Chris began to stroke his cock. He tried to kiss JC, but JC turned his face away, into the pillow, the tendons of his neck twisted, and Chris' lips glanced off the sharp line of his jaw.

"no," Chris said, and pulled back sharply, panting now, and yanked JC down the bed by the hips. JC kept the lubricant in a small box on the bedside table, and when Chris reached for it, he knocked the lamp off the bedside, and it fell to the floor, shattering. He dragged JC further down towards him, bent to mouth the skin on the inside of JC's knee, briefly. When he shoved two fingers into JC, JC widened his legs a little, reaching for him, so Chris didn't bother with anything else, just pressed his palm to the mattress next to JC's ribs and pushed into him. JC banged his head back against the pillow, and his mouth trembled, and Chris closed his eyes, kept them closed even when JC's arms snaked around him, holding him tightly. Chris began to move roughly over JC, eyes shut, dipping his head to press small kisses against JC's shoulders and throat by instinct, by accident. JC's cock was hard between them, and he was making soft guttural noises, his hands running restlessly over Chris' arms and back.

Chris dipped his mouth down to catch JC's cheek, and when he lifted his lips they were salty and wet, and JC whimpered, and Chris opened his eyes and realized that JC was crying, tears trickling down his cheeks, and the side of his face.

"What are--I'm--," Chris said, and tried to pull away, but JC clutched him, clawing at his shoulders a little.

"It's not--it's. don't stop," he whispered. "I don't want you to stop."

"But," Chris said, struggling against JC's hands, a little, touching a tear track with his thumb. JC shook his head, and held on, and the only sound in the room was his breathing, thick and uneven.

"It's just," JC said, after a long time. "I'll miss this." He touched Chris' eyebrow with the tip of his finger. "miss you."

"Then don't leave," Chris said. His arms were starting to tremble from holding himself still. "please," he said roughly.

"okay," JC said, and gave him an odd, watery smile. "okay." and Chris meant to say that it wasn't so easy, but then JC drew him down for a kiss, slid his mouth over Chris' and curled his tongue into Chris' mouth, his fingers in the hair at Chris' nape. "okay," he said again, quietly, and arched his back, sliding his legs more tightly around Chris' waist, drawing him in closer, confident hands skidding down his body. Chris stared down at him a moment, then bent to cover his mouth, carefully, joyfully, and when JC twisted urgently underneath him, began to move again.

 

* * *

Later, much later, after JC had gone back down to the workroom to finish up with making a pair of bugged earrings for Justin, after they'd cleaned up the lamp, and he'd kissed JC's neck while he was brushing his teeth, when it was night, and dark, and JC was curled up behind him, arm across his stomach, he began to talk.

"We met the year I was sixteen," he said. "Her favorite color was yellow." Sometimes he skipped ahead.

"My daughter," he said, "walked the day after her first birthday." JC slid his fingers into Chris', and Chris pulled their linked hands up his chest until they were over his heart.


	36. the business of doing it

Lance leaned into the workroom and said

"I need Justin for twenty minutes--you busy?" Justin looked from Lance to JC, and JC nodded.

"I can probably get through the next three by myself," he said. "I'll need you after that."

"won't take long," Lance said. When Justin stepped out the door, he was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He nodded without really looking at Justin and walked away, and after a moment Justin followed him.

Lance walked down the hall and up two flights of stairs, back to his rooms, moving quickly enough that Justin almost had to trot to keep up with him. When Lance opened the door, Justin hesitated behind him.

"It's okay," Lance said. Justin stepped inside. He stood by the door while Lance picked up a bulky plastic bag off his table and said "come here." He gave Justin the bag. "Go in the--" he made a vague gesture at a door in the corner of the room. "Put them on."

In the bag were a pair of pants in a heavy faintly shiny material, and a silky shirt. He put them on, awkwardly. The pants felt too tight across his thighs, and hit him low on the hips, and the shirt didn't button high enough, and was so thin it made him shiver, standing in bare feet on the tile of Lance's bathroom. He tried to see what he looked like, but Lance's mirror was too small for him to see anything except his face, and his bare throat. He sat down on the edge of the bathtub and the material pulled tight over his thighs. It wasn't uncomfortable. The material was sleek, and stretched, a little. He stared at his toes on the blue patterned tile of the bathroom floor, and shrugged his shoulders against the shirt, which made a faint slippery noise when he moved. JC would be needing him soon. He stood up and opened the door.

Lance was leaning against the arm of the couch, arms crossed, but he straightened up when Justin came out of the bathroom.

"Come here," Lance said. Justin walked over unwillingly, the waistband on the pants shifting as he moved. Lance looked at his body carefully, face quiet, and then at his feet. "we'll get you some shoes," he said. Justin nodded.

"Let me see the back," Lance said. Justin blinked at him, and then turned around slowly, hands in fists at his sides. "good," Lance said. Justin turned back around to face him.

"Smile at me," Lance said, and Justin tried, twisted his mouth into a curve.

"No," Lance said. "Smile at me like you want to have sex with me." Justin had fixed his gaze on the second button on Lance's shirt, but his eyes flew to Lance's then, startled. Lance looked at him gravely for a moment, and then turned away and rustled through the papers on his desk, coming up with a small paper bag, which he held out.

Justin took it reluctantly. Inside, there was an eyeliner pencil, and a small tube of something shiny, both still in their plastic packaging.

"for your mouth," Lance said.

"oh." Justin folded the bag shut, and Lance sighed and stared at him for another long calculating moment, before saying

"you'll do."

 

* * *

He tried on the clothes every day, mornings, locking himself in the bathroom and pulling them on after Joey left. He still hadn't opened the packages of makeup. He didn't know how to put them on, but he thought JC might, or Bug.

In the mirror, he didn't look any different. He thought he might, but he looked like himself, even after JC said that Lance had said to give him a haircut, and sat him down and carefully evened out his curls with the scissors they used to cut electrical tape. JC had smiled up at him, crouching in front of him to see how it looked. Justin told him he could cut off more, and JC stopped smiling. Lance wanted it kept long, he said.

 

* * *

JC and Bug were working late, making sure they were going to be able to breach security without being detected, and Chris and Joey had set up a simulation in an unused upper hallway, and spent a lot of time learning to navigate it blindfolded, but there was less and less for him to do, except to go back to the bedroom and sit on the bed and think.

 

"It's probably best," JC had started to say, glancing sideways at Bug, "if you don't know this."

"Why don't you go get something to eat," Bug would suggest. He wasn't hungry.

"Take the afternoon," JC would say, trying to smile as though it were a reward.

He was usually asked to leave meetings early. A security risk, Lance said.

They were trying to prepare him, as well as they could, as much as they had time for, but they couldn't, of course, and would never be able to. Justin decided quietly what it was he needed to do, and then got down to the business of doing it.


	37. believe me

It was late when Joey got back to the room, and he opened the door quietly. Justin had been sleeping a lot lately, sleeping soundly when Joey left in the morning, napping, curled in on himself in the afternoon, covers pulled up halfway over his face. When Joey stepped inside, though, Justin wasn't asleep. There was a candle on the bedside table, and another on the bureau, but they weren't lit. The overhead light was on, and the small lamp on the bedside table, but Justin wasn't working, or reading. He was sitting up against the headboard, in the middle of the bed, sheets and blankets pulled up around his waist, waiting.

Joey closed the door.

"I--," Justin said. "I thought you might," he said, and then he had to clear his throat. He started to blush, bright pink along his shoulders and jawline. "It's just," he said softly. "I've never done it before."

Joey looked at him for a long moment, but Justin didn't drop his eyes. He was blushing, but his face was quiet.

Joey unbuttoned his jacket, and hung it on the peg on the door, and then he pulled his shirt off over his head. He unlaced his boots and unbuttoned his pants, folding them neatly over the chair for tomorrow, and when he was naked, he closed his hand over the lightswitch, and the room went dim, with only the pale light from the bedside table. There was a small box of matches next to the candle on the bureau, and Joey lit it, his back to Justin, and heard Justin fumbling the light on the bedside table out. He cupped the flame in his hand and crossed the room, lighting the candle on the bedside table.

He couldn't see Justin very well, but he could hear him, moving his hands nervously over the bedclothes. Everything in the room was too loud: his footsteps across the floor, the flare of the wick catching on fire, the creak of springs when he pushed the covers out of the way and put a knee on the edge of the mattress, and Justin's sharp intake of breath when Joey put a hand on his cheek.

Joey leaned down and fit his mouth carefully against Justin's, and Justin opened his mouth, immediately, sighing a little when Joey put a cradling arm around his shoulders and lowered him to the bed, and then slid in next to him, half on top of him. Underneath the covers, Justin was naked. Joey leaned over, and kissed him again, taking a little longer with it, finding Justin's hand and stroking the callouses on his palm. Justin's body was stiff and silent against him, but he kissed back, and pulled Joey more on top of him, opened his legs around Joey's hips, fingers skimming up Joey's back. Joey pulled back to be able to see Justin's face. His eyes had become accustomed to the dim light, and he could see that Justin was afraid, taking short sharp uneven breaths through his nose. When he saw that Joey was looking at him, he blinked nervously.

"Justin," Joey said, and Justin mumbled,

"I'm sorry," hands already moving restlessly over Joey's shoulders. "You don't have to if you don't want to," Justin said. His voice cracked halfway through.

"no, no, Justin, no," Joey said.

"It's--"

"I want to," Joey said. He turned onto his side, taking Justin with him, and began to kiss him again, drawing Justin's thigh up to drape over his, stroking his fingers over the silky skin on Justin's hip.

"hey," he said, and made Justin tilt his head so he could see him. "I want to. with you." Justin gave him a shaky smile and surged closer in his arms, kissing him warmly, sliding his leg higher until it was draped tightly over Joey's waist and hip.

"I got--there's stuff," Justin said, against his mouth, and then rolled away from him to retrieve it from underneath the pillow, and press it into his hand. "um. now?" he said, and settled himself back against the pillow, arranging his arms carefully, and starting to part his knees. Joey could see that he was biting the inside of his cheek, watching him warily.

"not yet," he said, and slid lower over Justin, beginning a series of lazy kisses down his throat.

"but--" Justin said, and sighed when Joey kissed the hollow of his collarbone.

"I'll tell you when," Joey murmured, stroking Justin's waist with his thumb, pressing a kiss against his sternum.

"uh huh," Justin said uncertainly.

Joey lifted his head. "unless you'd rather. we can just--"

"no, I don't want--" Justin bit his lip.

Joey dropped his eyes, and slid a regretful hand down Justin's side, but nodded.

"Can we just do what you want to do?" Justin asked.

"sure," he said. He kissed Justin gently on the mouth, and reached for the condom,

"no," Justin said, and caught Joey's face in his hands. "I didn't mean--" His thumb traced down Joey's jaw. "you were sick that time," he said, finally. "and it doesn't count."

"It counts," Joey said heavily.

"not to me," Justin said, and lifted up underneath him for a quick kiss, and Joey caught his mouth, instinctively, pressed him back to the mattress. Justin threw one arm around his waist, hand wide on the small of his back, and held on tightly. Joey rolled them over, pulling the sheets and blanket awry, and Justin knelt up, straddling him. He pressed a series of enthusiastic kisses on Joey's neck and shoulders, before sitting up, and squirming carefully against Joey's cock, and Joey groaned, and thrust up underneath him. Justin met his eyes and his flushed deepened, but he did it again, eyelashes flickering, and slid a palm down his chest and touching his own cock, panting, lips hanging open.

"c'mere," Joey said, and kissed him hungrily, tonguing his mouth open, and Justin clung to him, and when Joey urged him over, rolled obediently to his stomach.

The room was quiet, for a moment, only the mattress springs shifting under Joey when he knelt between Justin's legs, and Justin's excited breathing, and then Justin turned his head on the pillow and twisted his back so he could look back at Joey. He smiled, a quick flash of teeth, before settling back down, wiggling a little lower in the bed, towards Joey.

Joey put his palm on Justin's ass, and Justin hunched fitfully against the mattress, spread his legs a little further open, and cried out softly when Joey pressed his lips into one, and then the other of the hollows of his hips. Justin smelled familiar: dust and something metallic, and the harsh soap they used. He smelled like home, and when Joey slid his tongue into the salty furrow at the base of Justin's spine, Justin jerked against him, said

"Joey--" hoarsely. His knees slid wider on the bed, scraping loudly over the sheets, and pressed backwards against Joey's chest when Joey trailed his lips along Justin's spine to press a kiss in the crook of his neck, and one up underneath the curls at his hairline. Joey slid his hand along the curve of Justin's ass, and then pressed his fingers slowly inside, with Justin whimpering and bucking against the bed.

He pushed himself up on his hands, the long line of his back unfurling, and pressed his back against Joey's chest, trembling a little, arching his back and rubbing his ass back against Joey's hand, sighing. Joey slid an arm around Justin's midriff and held him there, grinding against him minutely, pressing his mouth against the knobs of Justin's spine.

"I'm gonna--" He held Justin against him with one arm and fumbled for the condom.

"okay," Justin said, and arched up underneath him, rolling his hips. "ah, good," he said faintly, when Joey pushed carefully inside him. "slow--" Justin said, but shuddered against him, his fingers curling involuntarily against the bed, and he gasped in relief when Joey began to push harder, braced himself against the bed and rocked back against Joey's thrusts.

Justin's whole body was damp and slightly slick, and he twisted frantically against Joey, hot and tight,

"I love you," he whispered, in a strained voice, and came, collapsing on the bed. Joey stretched his arms out and braced them on either side of Justin's head, leaned down enough that he could nuzzle against Justin's still heaving shoulder, and Joey didn't mean to ask him for anything else, but it was a bad angle and he reached down and slid a finger up into the crease between Justin's hip and thigh, said

"can you just--" and Justin arched up obligingly undneath him, tucking one knee under his body.

"oh, you--" Joey said, moving faster, pressing his forehead against Justin's shoulderblade. Justin was pliant underneath him, moving his hips a little, making soft content noises, and then he turned his head and licked lazily at the crease between Joey's thumb and forefinger, and Joey came, gasping against Justin's back. After a moment, he put an arm around Justin's waist and tugged him sideways, pulling Justin's back flush against his chest, letting their hearts slow down together.

Joey sat up after a bit and wiped Justin off with the sheet, and then yanked it off and dropped it over the edge of the bed. He picked up Justin's pillow and put it on his side of the bed, and Justin rolled over to it, and then Joey pulled the quilt up over both of them. They were quiet, then.

"sorry about," Justin said. He pushed himself up on his elbows to stare at Joey, the quilt falling off his shoulders. "um. when I said. you don't--I'm sorry."

"don't," Joey said, and pushed the hair back off Justin's damp forehead. "I love you," he said, and reached up to kiss the corner of Justin's mouth.

"oh."

"believe me?"

Justin nodded, solemnly.

"good."


	38. close your eyes

ustin went missing an hour before they were supposed to leave. He'd been underfoot all morning, quiet. He hadn't been able to eat breakfast, but when Joey had asked if he maybe wanted to go take a nap, Justin had shaken his head and started to help packing equipment.

"You should take a nap," Lance said, when he saw him, and told Justin to lie down on the couch in his rooms while he and Joey and Chris went over the maps again. When Joey glanced over, he could see that Justin wasn't sleeping, curled up stiffly under the afghan Lance had gotten off his bed, and dropped on his feet. Joey winked, once, and Justin gave him a startled small flash of a smile, over the edge of the blanket. Later, when JC wanted to test the bugs one last time, they couldn't find him. They'd already checked them four times, with Joey huddled four rooms away, listening in to the startlingly clear sound of Justin and JC talking, but JC was nervous, and tired.

"Just fucking find him," he said curtly, and Chris put a steadying hand on the small of his back, without looking up from his map. JC sighed. "Can you, please, Joe?" he said.

Joey found him in their bathroom. He hadn't seen the clothes on before, although he'd peeked at the bag that Justin had stuffed in the corner of the closet, and slid his hand inside cautiously, the heavy fabric of the pants dense against his fingers. He hadn't wanted to look at them. Justin was wearing them now, barefoot, leaning against the sink. The black made him look thinner than usual. He had, at some point, Joey thought, grown out of some of his gawkiness, and the pants were dark and smooth over his hips, a small sliver of skin showing between the shirt and the pants. Joey thought about the night before, when he'd pressed his lips against that spot, and Justin had shuddered, coming off the bed, making a sweet choked noise.

Justin was trying to put on eyeliner, one elbow braced against the mirror. The floor was littered with crumpled pieces of toilet paper smeared with black. Joey stepped forward, and took the eyeliner pencil out of Justin's hand, turning him gently around and lifting his chin. Only a little; Justin had gotten as tall as he was, at some point.

"close your eyes," Joey said. He drew the eyeliner along the top of Justin's eyelids and smeared it with his fingers. Justin tipped his head back more, slumping against the sink, trusting under Joey's hands.

"you don't have to," Joey said, and Justin opened his eyes, stared at him quietly. Joey cupped his cheek for a moment, his fingertips making grey smudges against Justin's cheekbone.

"I'm going to," Justin said. Joey nodded.

"hold still," he said, and drew a thinner line underneath Justin's eyes, thumb brushing along his eyelashes.

"you're done," Joey said, and picked up a piece of toilet paper to wipe off Justin's cheek.

"what about--" Justin said, and fumbled behind him for a small metallic tube. "It's, um. my lips," he mumbled. Joey unscrewed the tiny cap, fingers clumsy, and squeezed some out onto his fingers. It was clear and faintly pink, and shiny, with metallic flecks in it. When he put his forefinger on Justin's lip, Justin's mouth dropped open. He smeared Justin's lips with it, top and bottom, pressing his fingers against the contours and wiping away the excess under Justin's lower lip with his thumb. Justin's eyes drooped quietly closed.

"done," Joey said finally.

Justin turned around, squaring his shoulders. He pulled the shirt straight, and stared his reflection for a moment before meeting Joey's gaze in the mirror. Smudged, black-rimmed, his eyes looked huge and young.

"okay?" Justin said, and touched the bow of his lip carefully, examining his forefinger when he took it away.

Joey thought about how Justin had kissed him in the morning, hands on either side of his hips, leaning into Joey and then sliding his mouth down his chest.

"no, Justin, you don't have to--" Joey had said when Justin had pressed a kiss on his stomach.

"but what if--" Justin had said quickly, and then stopped himself. "I want to," he whispered. "I want," he had said, and opened his lips over Joey's cock, slipping down lower along Joey's body. Just this morning, and now Justin was rinsing cheap makeup off his fingers.

"They're waiting for us," Joey said. Justin stepped around him, and out the door, touching Joey's shoulder in passing.


	39. party

They set up a hundred yards beyond the walls of the facility, in a duck blind, hiding the jeep another quarter mile down the road in a deep thicket. The afternoon was windy, and chill, and they worked quietly as it got dark, Lance wrapping the wires more tightly on the explosives, and setting up the timers, Chris double checking the shells in his gun and then strapping his holster more tightly to his thigh. Justin sat on a flat rock, out of the way, arms wrapped around his waist. Lance glanced at him, and then stood up and took off his jacket, putting it around Justin's shoulders before going back to work.

"thanks," Justin muttered.

The only other break in the silence was Joey testing the com equipment, the slight hum of static when JC said " _got you loud and clear,_ " when Lance hooked the earpiece on and said "test." a few times.

"say something, Justin," Joey said.

"test," Justin said.

"It'll be dark in 20 minutes," Chris said.

"we're ready," Joey said. Chris nodded. Lance stood up.

"wait," Joey said. He walked over to Justin and kissed him on the cheek, and Justin tried to smile at him, clutching Lance's jacket around him.

"I'll be right with you, the whole time," Joey murmured in his ear, low enough that Lance and Chris couldn't hear.

"okay," Justin said, and stood up, one hand in Joey's for balance.

"okay," Joey said.

"You'll go out to the road," Lance said. "walk up to the gate house, and tell them you're here to see the general."

"right," Justin said. He took off the jacket and handed it back to Lance. Chris shifted on his feet in the background.

"just." Lance sighed, and pushed his hair roughly off his forehead. "Stall as much as you can."

"yes," Justin said, and turned and walked out of the clearing.

 

* * *

They lost contact after Justin introduced himself to the gatehouse guards and Joey flicked frantically through the channels, trying to pick him back up.

"What the fuck, JC," he said "Where the fuck is he?"

" _It'll be fine,_ " JC said. " _You're just getting some interference because of the fortifications. The General's room is on the second floor._ "

"well, he--" Joey said, and then stopped, as the crackle of static resolved into a man's voice.

" _\--old are you?_ "

" _six-sixteen,_ " Justin said. His voice was quiet, but steady.

"He's  _sixteen_?" Chris whispered in astonishment, backpack halfway on. He was staring at Joey.

"nineteen," Joey said. He tuned the dial minutely, jaw working a little. "He's nineteen," he muttered.

"Let's go," Lance said. He touched Joey quickly on the shoulder before he and Chris faded into the underbrush.

 

* * *

" _so this is, um. a nice room,_ " Justin said.

" _you like it?_ " The General's voice was low and dry.

" _sure. It's, um--_ "

" _come over here._ "

 

Justin's breathing was sharp and loud in his ear.

" _so, did you._ " Justin's voice trailed off.

" _you'll be paid, if that's what you're worried about._ " There were some small shuffling noises, and then the creak of furniture, Justin's quick exhalation.

 

Joey turned the volume up loudly enough that Justin's breathing was a ghost echo over everything.

" _I can. I could._ "

" _shut up._ "

Then there were the soft wet sounds of kissing, for a long time, the rustle of fabric, and Joey thought about Justin in the seat next to him on the way there, smoothing his hands down his thighs, pressing his cheek against the window.

" _sweet,_ " the General said. Justin's breathing hitched sharply, ugly and loud, echoing over the headphones. " _unbutton this for me._ "

" _okay,_ " Justin whispered.

" _mm,_ " the General said. Justin cried out softly. " _sensitive there, hm?_ "

" _sorry,_ " Justin muttered.

 

Joey pulled off the headphones, clenching them tightly in his hand, and his own breathing was painful in his ears. After a moment, he put them back on.

The General sighed contentedly, and then there were sloppy kissing noises, the metal click of snaps being undone.

" _I--uh._ "

" _you like that?_ " There was a pause, and then Justin said,

" _yeah,_ " his voice breathless, thick. " _I can, um. do you want me to--_ "

" _sh. there's plenty of time, sugar._ "

" _oh._ "

" _you like to party?_ "

" _I don't--um. what are those?_ "

 

Justin's voice had changed, cracking in the middle of the question, and Joey leaned in, putting his fingers against the transmitter, biting the inside of his cheek.

" _just something to loosen you up, a little, so we can have some fun together._ "

" _I don't--_ " there was a short pause, and then Justin said " _they don't like it if I--we don't need those,_ " he said softly. " _we can have fun together without them._ "

The General laughed. " _you'll take them, or you can get out--will your employers like that?_ "

" _oh,_ " Justin said. " _I. okay._ "

" _There you go._ "

More kissing. Slick rustling sounds, and Justin said,

" _how long until--_ "

" _ten minutes, maybe. come with me._ "

The transmission crackled and faltered, briefly, and Joey twisted the antenna in desperation, getting the signal back as Justin said, " _so. um. do you, um--._ "

" _lie down._ "

" _okay._ "

A small creak of springs, and there was a series of metallic clinks, and then the faint slide of fabric.

" _oh, if you want,_ " Justin said. " _I can help._ "

" _what you're doing is just fine._ "

The springs groaned, and Justin made a soft startled noise, and then there was a series of deep wet noises, and Joey waited for Justin to say something else, but there was silence, only the occasional creak of springs, and more kissing, and Justin's shuddering breaths.

Joey looked at his watch, squinted above his head at the half moon, high in the sky. Looked at his watch again.

" _you're beautiful,_ " the General said.

" _thank you,_ " Justin said.

" _you like to suck cock?_ "

" _I did that with Joey this morning,_ " Justin said, his voice a little muzzy. " _I mean--_ "

" _mm._ " He was kissing Justin's jaw, or neck, the bugs picking up disproportionately loud moist smacking sounds. " _I'm gonna fuck you so hard, sweetheart,_ " he murmured.

 

Joey pressed his palm against his mouth.

" _okay,_ " Justin said, voice dreamy and soft.

" _take those off,_ " the General said, and then there was the sound of a drawer opening and closing, and the shuffling sound of fabric.

" _hm,_ " Justin said.

" _you need help--_ " the General started to ask, chuckling slightly, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. " _wait here,_ " he said, and there were quick footsteps, and a short muffled conversation, too far out of range to be understood. The sound was garbled and staticky until it resolved into the General saying.

 

" _\--be back in a minute._ " " _But--no,_ " Justin said. The General was moving quickly around the room, probably dressing. " _wait,_ " Justin said, almost desperately. " _I don't want you to go._ "

" _that's nice, honey. I'll be back._ "

" _no,_ " Justin said. " _because I'm not supposed to--I'm--_ "

" _calm the fuck down,_ " the General said, and there was the sharp sound of a slap, and Justin crying out, and the bed creaking under his weight. " _slut._ "

" _I'm sorry,_ " Justin whispered.

" _when I get back,_ " the General said, his belt clinking. " _you can make it up to me._ " There were heavy footsteps, and then a door slammed.

 

* * *

Lance and Chris crashed into the clearing. Lance was bleeding from a cut on his temple, and Chris' shirt was ripped, but he gave Joey a tense grin, already moving towards the monitoring equipment.

"Go get him," Lance said. "You've got ten minutes."


	40. rearview mirror

He came through the window into the main room, but Justin wasn't there. There was a massive oak desk against one wall and a dark green flocked velvet couch, in a pool of yellow light from a small lamp. The door to the next room was half open, and Joey started towards it, stopping at the small crumpled bit of silk on the carpet next to the couch. It was Justin's shirt.

Justin was lying on the bed in the next room, eyes closed.

"Justin," Joey said, and he didn't move. His pants were undone, and there was a long red mark on his left cheek. "Justin," Joey repeated, and tapped his face gently. His lips were swollen. "Justin, come on," Joey said, and shook him until his eyes opened, and he blinked, up at Joey.

"Joey," he said. He licked his lips. "I lost my shoes."

"That's okay," Joey said. He pulled Justin into a sitting position and threaded his arms through the sleeves of his shirt.

"We're leaving?" Justin said.

"yup," Joey pulled the shirt closed and buttoned it.

"But. My shoes," Justin said.

"leave them." Joey looked at the bedroom door, quickly, and then his watch, and then back at Justin, who was frowning at him.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked, cautiously.

"No, Justin--" Joey sighed, and scooped Justin into his arms. "you wanna go home with me?"

"home," Justin said quietly, nodding.

"Be still, okay?" Joey said, and dropped a quick kiss on his cheek before carrying him through the door, turning sideways to get him through the door.

He kicked open the french doors, boosting Justin up over his shoulder and flinging one leg over the balcony before slapping the buckle of the harness into the loop with one hand, holding Justin's legs against his body with the other. It was only the second story, and they hit the ground in seconds. Joey flapped the rope hard against the building, and retrieved the grappling hook.

"flying," Justin mumbled.

There was a guard at the front gate. Joey had come in over the wall, but he wouldn't be able to get over with Justin. He took Justin off his shoulders and sat him down beneath a bush, crouching down in front of him. "be quiet, okay?" he whispered. Justin started to say something and Joey clapped his hand across Justin's mouth, shaking his head. Justin blinked at him, and then nodded, and when Joey removed his hand, Justin put his own fingers against his mouth.

Joey slid through the underbrush on his stomach, slid his knife out of the holster, and came up behind the guard, knocking him over the back of the head with the hilt of the heavy knife. He dragged his body back under the shrubbery and then went back for Justin.

 

* * *

"Let's go," Joey said, stuffing Justin into the backseat before climbing in himself and slamming the door. Lance glanced at them and then shoved the already idling engine into gear, pulling sharply out onto the road.

"Hi, Lance," Justin said loudly, "I lost my shoes."

Chris turned around in his seat, frowning.

"He drugged him," Joey said, grimly. "Justin," he began, and Justin crawled across the seat and into his lap, slid his arms around Joey's neck and kissed him, licking the corner of his mouth, pressing hotly against him. Joey grabbed his shoulders gently and broke the kiss. "Justin, honey--"

"honey." Justin repeated solemnly.

"How many did you take?" Joey said, trying to catch Justin's face in his hand, but Justin pulled restlessly away, and started to unbutton his shirt.

"no," Joey said, catching his wrists, "you don't--"

"but I'm hot," Justin said, and started to shrug out of the shirt. "It's hot in here."

Even in the dim light from the dashboard, Joey could see that Justin was flushed, and when Joey's hands skated over his shoulders, pulling the edges of the shirt back together, they were damp with sweat. Justin struggled weakly against him, hands picking at Joey's when he rebuttoned the shirt.

"I'm hot," he mumbled petulantly.

Chris passed a canteen back to them without turning, and Joey took it gratefully, unscrewing the cap for Justin, who drank eagerly, tilting his head back to drink the last of it. Water trickled down his chin and dropped on his shirt, and when he took the canteen away his lips were wet. He smiled, leaned in and began to unbutton Joey's shirt.

"baby, no," Joey said, and pushed Justin's hands away.

"but--"

"can you just wait?"

"okay," Justin said, and began to squirm in his lap, panting softly, concentrating, and Joey made an involuntary sound that was half laugh, half groan, and Justin grinned and pressed in closer, starting to press butterfly kisses on Joey's neck and jaw.

"Justin," Joey sighed, and reached for him, but Justin caught his hand in a surprisingly strong grip and pressed it against the front of his pants. Joey's thumb was against the bare skin of Justin's belly, and the rest of his hand was against the silky material of the pants, hot from Justin's skin, and he was hard underneath. He ground himself against Joey's hand, whimpering a little, and Justin had his hands on Joey's zipper, fingers tracing teasingly over his erection, before Joey could collect himself enough to pull Justin's hands away.

"not right now," he said, and his voice was hoarse. Justin gave him a sulky look, sliding closer against him, but he rebuttoned Joey's shirt, straightening the collar and patting it flat.

"I lost my shoes," he said gravely.

"we'll get you new ones," Joey said.

There was silence in the car, the back of Chris' head turned resolutely out the window, the sound of gears shifting.

"honey," Justin said thoughtfully, under his breath, and licked a careful line down Joey's throat, pulling back the collar of his shirt to kiss his collarbone deliberately.

"Justin," Joey said sharply, his patience finally giving out, and grabbed his hands, pulling them from around his neck, and Justin twisted out of his grasp, and there were suddenly tears of frustration in his eyes. He hit Joey's shoulder hard, once, and then again, and Joey caught his wrists, holding him tightly,

"hey--"

"but I already waited," Justin said. "I waited and waited, and you didn't want me, I never even got to do it before yesterday, and I'm, I don't, I'm  _hot_ \--" He tore his hands from Joey's grasp and ripped open the buttons of his shirt, jerking away when Joey tried to stop him, "I just want--" he yanked the shirt down off his arms and it slipped down and dropped on the floor. "It's not fair, because you said--"

"when we get back, okay? I promise," Joey said. He cupped Justin's cheek for a moment, running his finger along the bruise that was already forming. "it's okay," he said, and Justin's lips were trembling, but he slumped cautiously against Joey's chest, and Joey gathered him closer, one arm around his waist. "I promise," he said, lips brushing Justin's ear. He stroked a hand across Justin's damp back, soothing, and Justin tucked his face against Joey's neck, sighing, a little. In the rearview mirror, Joey's eyes met Lance's.


	41. trust me

The car ground to a slow halt on the gravel of the compound, and Chris nodded curtly over his shoulder at Joey before getting out of the car, disappearing immediately into the shadow of the primary building. Lance pulled the key from the ignition and turned around, one elbow over the seat.

"Debriefing tomorrow," he said. Justin sat up a little when Joey shifted underneath him. "You'll let me know if you need anything," Lance said quietly, and then got out of the car.

Justin took his shirt without argument and pulled it on, and then smiled at Joey and pressed a quick kiss against the corner of his mouth.

Justin was tall, but very thin, and Joey carried him easily across the dirt to the door, with Justin mumbling happily against his neck. He didn't put him down once he stepped through the door, but continued carrying him down the hallway, and Justin clung to him, arms around his neck, and said, without conviction, "I'm too heavy."

"You aren't," Joey said, and boosted him higher, pressing a kiss against his curls.

He had to set Justin down to get the door open, and when he did, Justin smiled and took his hand and drew him inside, tilting his head and pulling Joey in for a kiss, one arm around his neck. Justin's lips brushed his softly, and then his tongue curled into Joey's mouth, and he slid his hands down Justin's ribcage, and let Justin pull him closer, rubbing against him. Justin leaned back against the wall and one of Joey's legs sank between his thighs, and he murmured contentedly, grinding on Joey's thigh, until Joey slid one hand under his ass and pulled him up, effortlessly, Justin's legs wrapping around his waist, until he had Justin pinned against the wall, his hands moving slowly over Joey's back.

The jeep had smelled like explosive and the manure used to fertilize the gardens at the residence, but in their clean cold room, with Justin's arms twined around his neck, his soft breath against Joey's mouth, he smelled like cigars and strong sweet cologne and nervous sweat. Joey pushed Justin gently away from him and Justin's face fell a little.

"Let's take a shower," Joey said.

The shower stall in their bathroom was narrow, aging tile and crumbling grout, and not made for two people, but seeing Justin stumble and almost hit his head on the radiator in the corner of the bathroom, Joey sighed, and pulled his shirt off over his head.

"oh good," Justin said, giving him a bright grin, and sliding his hands down Joey's chest to the buttons on his pants.

In the shower, Justin lolled against him, unsteady but cheerful, at first singing a bit, softly, in Joey's ear, a children's counting song about chickens. Joey held him by the waist and washed him with the other hand, his hair and shoulders, sluicing the water down over him to the parts he couldn't reach without dropping him.

"I'll wash you," Justin offered, but Joey sat him down on the toilet seat and wrapped a towel around his shoulders, washing himself quickly. After he'd toweled himself off, he crouched down in front of Justin, and, carefully, dabbed a washcloth over his cheek. Justin fell silent, mouth tightening. The General had been wearing a ring.

There was a sharp shallow cut high on Justin's cheekbone, close to his eye, with a rapidly deepening ring of bruise around it. Joey pressed gentle fingers against the hot skin.

"hurt?" he asked.

"no," Justin said. Joey taped a small bandage over the cut, and Justin's mouth was so somber that he knelt up between his legs, and kissed him gently.

"Let's, um," Justin said, and kissed him back. "Let's-" he urged Joey out of his crouch and pulled him eagerly through the door to the bed..

They kissed for some time, Justin squirming happily underneath him, wrapping his legs around Joey's, his arms twined around Joey's neck, and Joey pulled back, finally, kissed his cheek, rubbed a thumb over Justin's mouth, squeezed his shoulder to make sure he was really there, with him. Justin opened his eyes slowly, and blinked.

"are we going to party?" he whispered, one hand still curled around Joey's neck, and Joey felt himself go cold.

"sure," he said, and rolled off Justin..

"where are you-" Justin said, reaching for him. "I-

"I'll be right back," Joey said. He touched his cheek, and then stood up, walking into the bathroom and staring at himself for a long moment in the mirror before taking their toothbrushes out of the water class and filling it. He drank it quickly, bracing one hand against the sink.

"Joey," Justin called from the other room, and Joey filled the glass again, and walked back to the bed, taking Justin's outstretched hand and pulling him into a sitting position.

"Drink it," he said, and put the glass into his hand. Justin began to drink obediently; Joey sat down next to him. His shoulder hurt. Justin hummed while he drank, and wiggled his bare toes. When he was finished, Justin handed the empty glass to him and climbed into his lap, pushing him to his back, and Joey let Justin kiss him, but said.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"I want to," Justin said, he slid a little, pulling them sideways.

"I know, but." Joey put his hands on Justin's hips and kissed him carefully, and Justin's eyes were dreamy when he lifted his mouth.

"You-"

"please," Justin said, and pulled Joey's head down enough that he could whisper in his ear. "please, Joey, it was so awful," he said softly.

"oh," Joey said. He ran a hand along Justin's bare shoulder, and then leaned back down to kiss him, rolling over on the bed and taking Justin with him, one arm around his back, and Justin traced fingers down his face as they kissed, moving his hips languidly against Joey's, and Joey rubbed his hands down Justin's sides and opened his mouth for Justin's tongue. Justin laughed softly, licked the corner of his mouth.

"you love me?"

"yes," Joey said.

"I'm okay now," Justin said, his eyes blue and wide in the dim light, and Joey looked at him for a long time, Justin's hands starfishing over his shoulders and back, and then let himself turn Justin over, and kiss him hungrily, press him into the mattress, slide his hands down Justin's sides and around his waist. Justin clung to him, surging against him, whimpering when Joey started to slide down his body.

"But I-" he said, scrabbling at Joey's shoulders, a little.

"sh," Joey said, pressed a kiss to his sternum. "trust me," he said.

 

* * *

JC was up late, watching connections slowly go dead, all the way across sector 18 and out to the south coast. When Chris got home he went down and dragged a chair up to JC's console, the legs skittering across the concrete floor. He sat down, wordlessly, and slid a hand around JC's waist. After a moment, JC tipped his head against Chris' shoulder. Chris tuned the radio to the military news frequency, which reported that due to a slight structural problem, some internal systems had gone down briefly. There was nothing to worry about, and no information had been lost, the announcer said. Chris laughed, a brief, nearly soundless shudder of air. JC sighed and turned his head to nuzzle Chris neck.

"You did it," he said.

"yeah." Chris slid one finger down his thigh to his knee, and then back up, slowly.

"so I was thinking," he said. "I'm going out on a border check in a few days."

"oh."

"yeah. Lance wants to make sure the checkpoints are still functional. Routine." Chris' fingers slid around his waist.

"how long?"

"come with me," Chris said.

"I don't know." JC got up, and flicked the radio off, and then the lamp. In the darkness, Chris spun him gently around pressing him back against the desk, and kissed him, hands cupping his jaw.

"Lance okayed it," he muttered, lips still brushing JC's. "we already know two of the motion sensors are out, and you'll have to go out and fix them anyway."

"but this way I'll be gone for a week, and-"

"Justin can handle it," Chris said. "You know he can. Even Lance said he could."

"but-"

"come with me," Chris said, and kissed him again, fiercely.

"Let's go to bed," JC said.

After, when Chris had fucked him luxuriously, with his face buried against JC's shoulderblades, lips moving reverently over his throat and the small of his back in preparation, Chris ran his fingertips slowly over him, the curve of his shoulder, the line of his belly, as though he were memorizing him.

"Justin," JC murmured, with a small guilty start that he hadn't thought of it earlier.

"mm," Chris said, kissing his neck again. "take it easy on him for a few days, okay?"

"it was bad?"

"yeah," Chris said. He uncurled JC's fingers and kissed his palm.

"I'll come with you," JC whispered.

 

* * *

Lance sat at his desk for an hour, reading the news feed, even though it never said anything different: everything was fine, everything was under control. He let himself smile, briefly at that, before he pulled the small, heavy black box across the desk and queued it up to replay, the sound tinny in his headphones. Someone else usually did the transcriptions, but Lance hadn't dropped it off. He listened twice, and made some cursory notes, rewinding to hear specific parts several times, before taking the tape out of the machine, and snapping off the light. He sat in the dark for some time, flipping the tape in his fingers, and then he snapped it in half, and dumped the pieces into his wastebasket.

He washed his face, but didn't take a shower; they were on restricted water rations. The hallways were dark and quiet. Lance went down to the kitchen and reheated some beans and rice and ate, standing up at the counter. He washed the pan, and put it away, and then, as an afterthought, looked through the pantry until he found the three remaining cans of carbonated water from when Chris had stolen a few cases on his way back from a mission. He picked up two cans, and then put them back down, and then shook his head and took them, looping around back through the hallways, the long way.

Drugs like that usually caused nausea.

He stopped in front of Joey's room, and lifted his hand to knock, quietly, but stopped at the sounds, inside, the murmur of voices.

"Joey-" Justin said, voice insistent, "ah," and there were creaks and rustles, and Joey laughing quietly. He stopped himself from knocking, but, almost involuntarily, his fingers uncurled, and he pressed his palm slowly against the door.

"mm," Justin said, his voice breaking a little.

**Author's Note:**

> Archived from helenish.org


End file.
